When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

The Pull I Can't Escape

Myra

"Come in," he said when I knocked gently on the door to his study.

"Hey," I murmured, stepping inside. "Hey."

I walked to his desk and placed the cup down. "Um... your coffee."

He glanced at it, brows lifting. "I didn't ask for coffee."

"Yeah—I know. I just thought..."

He tilted his head, curious. "You wanted to say something?"

I hesitated. My throat felt dry. "I was just thinking...now that the trial is over, and things are settling down—maybe we could move back to my old house. If you could give me the keys back?"

A beat of silence.

"No."

Just that. One word. Sharp. Flat. Unmoving.

He didn't raise his voice, didn't have to. That finality in his tone—cold and absolute—struck harder than anything else. It always did.

But I couldn't stay here. Not this close to him. Not when every breath I took in this house seemed laced with him. If I didn't pull away now, I'd lose what little of myself I still had. Marcus Clayton was an abyss, and I was already teetering on the edge.

"Marcus... please." I tried to keep my voice steady, gentle. "we have been living here for a while now, it seems strange. And how does it make any difference huh, not like you can't come there"

He didn't say anything. Just looked at me with that unreadable expression.

"You own that house anyway—"

"Exactly. I do."

He cut me off so quickly, the words felt like a slap. I flinched without meaning to.

Marcus stood. The chair scraped softly against the hardwood floor, and then he was walking toward me. Slow. Deliberate.

I dropped my gaze, hands twisting in front of me.

"You were saying?" he asked once he stood inches from me.

"Who owns that house?"

"Y-You," I whispered, still looking down.

"And who owns the girl who wants to live there?" His fingers caught my chin, tilting my face up. His eyes were fire and ice—burning through me, daring me to defy, daring me to try.

"I asked you something, Red." His voice dropped, rough with something dangerous. "Who owns the girl who wants to live in the house that I own?"

I swallowed hard, heart pounding. "Y-You." I said like a truth, not like surrender.

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face.

"So then, who decides where she lives?"

"You."

"Exactly." He leaned in, voice like silk over steel. "And I've decided she lives here. In this house. That's also mine."

"Got it?" he asked and there is only one answer.

"Yes Marcus" I nodded

"Good girl" he patted my cheek.

I started walking out when I heard him again

"Stop"

I turned around. He was holding out the coffee mug.

He stepped closer, lifted my hand, and placed the cup into it. His fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary.