Ashely hadn't spoken a word in days. Since the moment Vincent had dragged him back to the mansion, the fire that had once flickered in his eyes had completely dimmed. He barely touched his food, only moving when Vincent's men guided him from his room to the dining hall. Even then, his movements were mechanical, as if some vital part of him had shut down.
Vincent had noticed it immediatelyâthe hollowness in Ashely's gaze, the way his body seemed to float through the rooms like a ghost. But Vincent kept telling himself it was just temporary. He had thought Ashely would bounce back, that the boy would eventually come to accept the situation once more. After all, they had been through this cycle beforeâresistance, then submission. But this time, something was different.
This time, it was like Ashely had lost the will to fight.
At night, Vincent would stand outside Ashely's door, listening. Hoping for a sign of life. A whispered word. A restless shift. But the silence that greeted him each time was deafening. Ashely was slipping through his fingers, and Vincent didn't know how to stop it.
Days stretched into weeks, and still, Ashely remained trapped in his silent, unresponsive shell. He would sit by the window, staring out into the garden, his hands resting limp in his lap. The once-bright eyes that had sparked with defiance, hope, and anger were now dulled, as if all the light had been drained from him.
Vincent couldn't stand it.
He remembered Ashely from before, when they had first met. Back then, Ashely's smile had been radiant, a rare kind of light that drew people toward him. Vincent had been captivated by it, drawn to the way Ashely laughed so freely, as if the world couldn't touch him. It was that smile that had sparked Vincent's obsession in the first place.
Now, that same boy sat before him like a shadow of his former self, and it gnawed at Vincent's core. No matter what he triedâgifts, kind words, promises of outingsânothing reached Ashely anymore. Vincent found himself growing more frustrated with each passing day, his obsession morphing into something darker, heavier. He was losing control, not over Ashely's body, but over his mind. And it terrified him.
He had taken Ashely to own him, to keep that light for himself. But now, as he watched Ashely drift further into the abyss, Vincent wondered if he had extinguished that very light by holding on too tightly.
One night, after yet another untouched meal, Vincent found himself sitting across from Ashely at the dinner table, staring at the hollow version of the boy who had once defied him with every glance.
"Ashely," Vincent called softly, his voice almost gentle, but there was no response.
He tried again. "Ashely, look at me."
Nothing.
A cold shiver ran through Vincent as the silence stretched on. For the first time, he realized he was losing more than just a prisoner. He was losing the thing that had anchored him, the person who had unknowingly become the center of his universe.
Without a word, Vincent stood, leaving the table and retreating to his office, the heavy weight of failure settling on his shoulders.
It had been a month since Ashely's capture, and nothing had changed. His silence continued, his presence in the house nothing more than a ghost haunting Vincent's every waking moment. Vincent had grown restless, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface, and yet he couldn't force Ashely to snap out of it. No threats, no kindness, no promises reached him.
One evening, after dinner had once again passed without a word, Vincent followed Ashely to his room. The same routine played outâAshely walked silently, his gaze fixed forward, utterly detached from the world around him. But this time, Vincent couldn't stop himself.
He entered the room behind Ashely and shut the door with more force than he intended. Ashely didn't react. Vincent stood there, staring at the back of his head, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He clenched his fists, trying to hold onto his composure, but the silence was unbearable.
"Why won't you say anything?" Vincent finally snapped, his voice raw with frustration.
No response. Ashely sat by the window, as he always did, his eyes glazed over as he stared out into the dark garden.
Vincent took a step closer, his chest tight. "Ashely," he called again, this time louder. "Look at me."
Nothing.
A cold, desperate anger surged through him. "Damn it, look at me!"
Still, nothing. Ashely remained frozen, a statue lost in its own world.
Vincent felt something crack inside him. All the control he had prided himself onâthe careful, meticulous power he held over Ashelyâit was slipping away. The boy wasn't fighting him anymore. He wasn't even resisting. He was just...gone.
Before he could stop himself, Vincent's hands were gripping Ashely's shoulders, shaking him, desperate for any sign of life. "Say something!" he demanded, his voice breaking. "Why won't you speak? Why won't you look at me?!"
For the first time since his capture, Ashely turned his head slowly, his gaze meeting Vincent's with a distant, empty stare. The once-bright eyes were now hollow, like a flame that had long since burned out.
It was in that moment that Vincent finally realized what he had done. He had broken him. Not in the way he had intended, not in the way he had thought would bind Ashely to him forever. He had shattered him, drained him of the very thing that had drawn Vincent to him in the first place. The light was gone, and Vincent was the one who had snuffed it out.
His hands dropped from Ashely's shoulders as a wave of despair crashed over him. He stumbled back, unable to breathe, the full weight of his obsession crushing him. This wasn't what he wanted. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
"Ashely..." Vincent's voice trembled, a raw, unfamiliar sound escaping his throat. His knees buckled, and before he realized what was happening, he had fallen to the floor, tears stinging his eyes.
He had never cried in front of anyone, not in all his years of carefully constructed control. But here he was, breaking down in front of the very person he had fought so hard to control.
Ashely's expression didn't change as he watched Vincent crumble. His eyes remained blank, distant, as if Vincent's pain meant nothing to him.
And maybe it didn't.
Maybe this was what Ashely had wanted all alongâfor Vincent to feel the same emptiness he had felt since the day he had been taken.
"I'm sorry," Vincent whispered, his voice barely audible through the sobs that shook his body. "I'm sorry..."
But even as the words left his mouth, Vincent knew it was too late.
He had already lost him.