When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

Devil in Disguise

Myra

"Can I take your coat, Miss?" A polite woman in her early forties greeted me at the door, her voice gentle.

"Um—no. It's fine, ma'am," I said quickly, forcing my tone to match hers.

"You can call me Elsa, Miss," she offered with a kind smile.

I mirrored it faintly, though my lips cracked in the effort.

"You please wait here. She will be down in a minute," Elsa added before retreating into the house.

The mansion breathed wealth—modern, precise, cold. Clean lines of steel and glass cut sharply against the horizon. Marble stretched beneath my feet, cool and echoing. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed manicured lawns like art. The air smelled of polish and perfume, but underneath it was an emptiness, a silence too perfect, too curated, as if no real life had ever been lived here.

My eyes flicked to the glass of water Elsa brought me moments later. Condensation gathered and slid down its rim, taunting. My throat ached with thirst from hours of crying, but Marcus's voice still echoed, You will not eat anything or drink anything—including water—until I give you that. My hand twitched toward it more than once, but the memory of his eyes—calm, steady, deadly—kept me frozen. The punishment wasn't in the thirst alone; it was in knowing he owned the very air I breathed.

The click of heels broke the silence. I turned from the window and saw her stepping down the marble staircase. He green designer dress looked more like she was coming from a cocktail party and not her bedroom. Her eyes gleaming, her smile sharp enough to cut.

"Well hello, Myra" Jessica sang, smugness lacing her voice. "I'm surprised to see you here. Came to congratulate me on my wedding?"

I managed a faint smile. "No, Jessica." I stepped forward, steady despite the trembling in my chest. "I came to thank you."

Her smile faltered into a frown. "Thank me? For what?"

"For marrying Marcus Clayton—and freeing me for life." My lips curved higher, though it hurt to keep them steady.

Her laugh was instant, cruel. "Freeing you? Don't make me laugh. You were always following him around like a shadow. Like a pet. And now you want me to believe this?"

"I told you this more than once," I said, my voice low, my steps bringing me closer, "ask him why I'm always around."

Her brows pulled together, suspicion replacing smugness. "What do you mean?"

"Jess, Marcus is not what he seems like". I said and she frowned

"You think he is a nice guy  because he wears a suit and a tie." I said circling her slowly. "Because he is so polished. Composed. Calm, with a smile so bright. He will help you. Because he'll walk you home at night and promise to protect you from the darkness in the corners."

"He is a devil Jessica. A devil in disguise" I said halting in front of her.

"Why do I believe you." Jessica's arms folded, her chin lifting

I smiled then—a hollow, brittle thing—and slipped my big round shades off. Her gasp filled the silence as her eyes caught the bruise on my cheek, the raw red patch blooming across my skin.

One by one, I peeled away the shields.

My scarf, baring the bruised band around my throat where his fingers had pressed like a collar. His bites marked turned violet in shade. His bruises shined like age old scars and fresh off painting , a blend of red and violet.

My coat, sliding off to reveal welts and angry stripes across my arms and thighs, painted in cruel colors by his belt. I wore a yellow sleeveless sundress that made the scars of his obessession so easily visible.