His Perfect Lyra

Lyra's POV

I'm in the washroom, washing my hands.

My skin looks terrible. Cracked, dry, almost like it doesn't belong to me anymore. No mirror in here either. Can't tell if I look nice or like a wreck—not that it matters.

But then, I feel it again.

The flower hairpin.

My fingers find it easily, right where I always keep it. I pull it out, hold it closer, studying it.

I was right. There's a pin inside—not a blade, but sharp enough. If I can pull it apart, maybe… maybe I can unlock the chain. The door. Something.

Yeah. He's bound to bring things in again. I'll use them against him.

Then—

A knock.

And his voice, calm but just loud enough through the door:

"I know I said take as long as you need… but don't forget I'm waiting too. Don't make me wait, Lyra."

Silence.

Would he knock the door down if I don't come out?

No. I have to put the hairpin back. I can't lose this. Fork—gone. Chair—gone. Not losing another one.

I step out.

Silas has moved his chair closer to mine. Guess I'm sitting with him all day again.

I sit down like it's normal. Pretend. But then…

That cold voice:

"Did you do something to the hairpin? I don't remember leaving it like that."

My stomach drops.

How does he notice such small things? I was sure I put it back exactly the same way.

What do I say?

My hands are shaking. I can't look at him. I stare down at the floor.

"Last time you hurt my head… I just fixed it, that's all," I manage. My voice feels weak, but maybe it's steady enough.

Silas says nothing at first. I sneak a glance—he's leaning forward now, elbow on the table, chin resting on his hand.

"Lyra… I did ask if you wanted me to fix the hairpin. Why didn't you tell me?"

He sounds… hurt?

Because I didn't ask him?

"And what if I want to do it myself?"

The words snap out before I can stop them. I clench my jaw, still looking down.

Silence.

Then—

A hand across my face.

Not a slap. A grab.

His hand grips my face, tilting it up. Forcing eye contact. His expression—

Angry. Real anger.

All over a hairpin?

"When I ask or speak, you must answer. You must look at me. You want something, ask me. If you don't want it, don't do it. I hate seeing you do things yourself."

His voice stays calm, but the cold is there. In his eyes. Freezing.

What is he trying to tell me—?

"I want to take care of you," he says slowly. "I'll do everything for you. I'll take risks for you. As long as you don't get hurt… or feel sad."

His face leans in closer. Too close. I push at him, panicking—but he doesn't budge.

Then, soft—

A kiss. Right on my forehead.

"My little sweet Lyra… can't live without her man."

Shit. Shit. He's really messing up my head now.

Then he lets go. Smiling.

"Now… will you pick which color you want for your nails?"

His hand gestures toward the table—three nail polishes lined up in perfect order.

Yellow.

Blue.

White.

Wait…

Those are the same colors as the bed sheets.

Is this another test?

A right answer… or a trap?

This is why you can't let your guard down around a monster.