His Perfect Lyra

Lyra's POV 

"You're a gift. The best gift I've ever received."

He set the mirror back on the table, then moved to my right side and knelt down. I wasn't trying to, but my eyes met his—and once they did, I couldn't look away.

"You are Lyra. My sweet, perfect Lyra. I'll raise you into the perfect lady for me. After all… a gift shouldn't go to waste."

His voice wasn't cold, but I still felt cold. I couldn't say anything back.

A lady? Does that mean… he delusional loves me?

A gift… does that mean someone left me for him? Or is he just delusional? Which one is it?

The questions wouldn't stop firing through my head. I didn't understand him at all. I wanted to ask more. Should I?

"Why—"

Before I could finish, he cut me off.

"My Lyra doesn't question me. She agrees with everything I do or say. Do you understand, Lyra?"

His smile faded into something heavier—disappointment. And I still couldn't look away. His eyes… they pulled me in like magnets. Like I was made of metal and had no choice.

Those eyes were the reason I was so terrified of him.

And I nodded.

"No. I don't want you to nod. I want you to say it. Say you understand."

That was it. That was the moment I knew he wasn't just playing anymore. From here on, Silas was going to push things further. Making sure I did anything he wanted.

My throat felt tight. It wasn't really my voice. It felt automatic. Like survival had taken over.

"I understand."

Finally, my eyes dropped away. He stood up, then patted my head.

I flinched. I couldn't help it. My body just reacted—defense mode.

"Good girl," he said softly.

Then he started unpacking the pink makeup bag. One by one, he placed each tool on the table—scissors, a nail file, a bottle of clear polish. It was careful. Almost like a ritual.

Why? Why was he doing this? He wanted to clean me up? I could've done it if he'd just asked. So why was he pulling everything out himself?

"Lyra," he said gently, "I want to trim and fix your fingernails. So please, go wash your hands, then come back to the table. I'll wait for you."

His smile stretched again. Slow. Bigger.

"As long as you need."

As long as I need, huh?

What if I just stayed in the bathroom forever… Would he wait outside, smiling like that the whole time?