Very loosely inspired by Verity. Please do not read that novel it’s basically just badly written porn disguised as a horror novel.
The smell of warm bread and fresh pastries filled the cozy, dimly lit space of Vincent Charbonneau’s small bakery. Early morning sunlight filtered through the front windows, casting a soft glow over the rustic wooden tables and shelves lined with rows of baguettes, croissants, and tarts. Vincent, in his usual attire-a simple white apron tied loosely around his waist and a black turtleneck beneath it-stood behind the counter, his hands lightly dusted with flour. His bakery wasn’t anything grand, but it had a quiet charm, the kind of place where regulars came not just for the food, but for the peaceful, familiar atmosphere.
It was here that Vincent had met Rody Lamoree.
Rody had first walked in a few months ago, tall and broad-shouldered, with auburn hair that always seemed a little too wild for his otherwise polished appearance. Vincent had taken him for an early morning regular at first-someone stopping by before heading off to the office. It was only after a few visits that Vincent learned the truth: Rody owned a publishing company, one of the more successful ones in the area, despite his seemingly casual demeanor.
But it wasn’t just Rody’s business that had intrigued Vincent. There was something about the man’s presence, a certain warmth and intensity that left Vincent feeling both unnerved and drawn in. Rody’s smile was wide and infectious, and yet there was something hidden beneath the surface, a flicker in his eyes that Vincent couldn’t quite place.
He remembered the day when Rody had finally made his proposal.
“Vincent,” Rody had said with that same smile, leaning across the counter, his green eyes catching the light in a way that made Vincent’s pulse quicken. “I hear you’re a writer, too.”
Vincent had been taken aback. He had never shared his writing with anyone-his stories were private, something he indulged in late at night, when the bakery was quiet and the world was still. How had Rody found out?
“I dabble,” Vincent had replied cautiously. “It’s nothing serious.”
Rody had laughed, the sound deep and rumbling. “You’re too modest. I’ve read a few things here and there. You’re talented, Vincent. Really talented. And I want to offer you something-an opportunity.”
That was when Rody had told him about his wife.
Manon.
She had been a writer too, once. Talented, passionate-until the accident that had left her in a state of unresponsive stupor, brain-dead, though her body still lived on. Rody had asked Vincent if he would finish the novel Manon had been working on before the accident. At first, Vincent had hesitated. The idea of stepping into someone else’s story, of trying to finish something that had once been deeply personal, felt wrong. But there had been something in Rody’s eyes when he spoke of Manon, a kind of desperation that Vincent couldn’t ignore. Rody’s love for her was palpable, and Vincent, moved by his affection, had eventually agreed.
“I want you to move in,” Rody had said a week later. “It’ll be easier. You’ll have everything you need there. I’ve already set up an office for you.”
Vincent had agreed again, though part of him had felt uneasy about the idea. Living with a man he barely knew, working on a book he didn’t fully understand… it was daunting. But he found himself drawn to Rody, more than he was willing to admit.
—
The house was large, grand even, but there was something cold about it. The air inside was still, as if the building had been waiting for life to return to it. Vincent’s footsteps echoed as Rody showed him around, his hand lingering just a little too long on Vincent’s shoulder when he pointed out rooms. The office was on the second floor, near the large master bedroom, but Vincent rarely saw Rody’s wife. She was bedridden, her body still but her eyes open, as though she could see but not comprehend.
“She was a brilliant woman,” Rody said one evening, his voice low as they sat in the living room. “Before the accident. We had three children together, you know. The twins…” His voice faltered, and he looked away, his jaw tightening. “The twins didn’t make it. Just our son, Adrien, now.”
Vincent had seen Adrien in passing, a quiet boy with auburn hair like his father, but he hadn’t interacted with him much. There was something somber in the child’s eyes, as if he had seen too much for someone his age.
“What happened?” Vincent had asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile tension in the room.
Rody’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, Vincent saw something in him that made his blood run cold. “Manon,” Rody said, his voice steady but filled with an undercurrent of rage. “She was to blame.”
Vincent had wanted to ask more, to understand what had happened, but the way Rody’s hand tightened around his glass of whiskey made him think better of it. Instead, he nodded, staying silent.
—
Days passed, and Vincent settled into the routine. He spent his mornings working on Manon’s manuscript, piecing together her fragmented thoughts, her unfinished chapters. Rody was always nearby, watching him with an intensity that made Vincent’s skin prickle. At first, it had been subtle-a hand on Vincent’s shoulder as he worked, a lingering gaze across the room. But as the days went by, Rody’s touches became more frequent, more possessive.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Vincent,” Rody would say, his voice soft, almost tender. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
Vincent found himself drawn to Rody despite his growing unease. There was something magnetic about the man, something that made Vincent’s pulse quicken whenever he was near. He wasn’t sure when it had happened-when his feelings had shifted from curiosity to something deeper-but he couldn’t deny it anymore. He was falling for Rody.
But there was something wrong. Vincent could feel it in the house, in the way Adrien looked at him with those haunted eyes, in the way Rody spoke about Manon, his voice laced with something darker than grief.
Vincent tried to push the thoughts away, focusing on the manuscript, on Rody’s warmth, on the way Rody’s lips would brush against his skin when he leaned in too close. But the truth gnawed at him, refusing to be ignored.
—
It was late one night when Vincent finally saw it-the truth he had been avoiding.
He had been passing by Manon’s room, intending to head to the kitchen for a late-night snack, when he heard a sound. A soft rustle, barely audible. He stopped, his hand hovering over the door handle, his heart pounding in his chest. Slowly, he pushed the door open, peering into the dimly lit room.
Manon lay there, as she always did, her eyes open, her body still.
But then… her fingers twitched. Just slightly, but enough for Vincent to see it. His breath caught in his throat, his blood running cold.
She was awake. She had been awake this whole time.
Vincent took a step back, his mind racing. Why? Why had she been pretending? What had Rody done to her? And then it hit him-the way Rody had spoken about her, the way he had spoken about the accident, about the twins. The way he had looked at Vincent, with that same intensity, that same possessive gaze.
Rody didn’t love Manon. He wanted to control her. He wanted her to be conscious when he hurt her.
Vincent stumbled back, his mind reeling. He had to get out. He had to leave. But before he could move, the door creaked open, and there was Rody, standing in the doorway, his eyes dark and unreadable.
“Vincent,” he said softly, stepping into the room, his hand reaching out to cup Vincent’s cheek. “What are you doing in here?”
Vincent swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest. “I… I thought I heard something.”
Rody’s smile was slow, almost predatory. “Manon doesn’t make any noise,” he said, his thumb brushing over Vincent’s skin. “She’s not capable of it.”
Vincent forced a smile, trying to ignore the bile rising in his throat. “I must have imagined it.”
Rody’s hand slid down to Vincent’s neck, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “You’ve been working too hard,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Come to bed, Vincent. You need to rest.”
Vincent nodded, his mind screaming at him to run, to get out, but his body moved on autopilot, following Rody out of the room and down the hall.
As they lay in bed that night, Rody’s arm draped possessively over Vincent’s waist, Vincent stared up at the ceiling, his mind racing. He was trapped. He had walked right into Rody’s web, and now he didn’t know how to escape.
And as Rody’s breath warmed the back of his neck, Vincent realized with chilling clarity that he was falling in love with a monster.
Vincent’s nights became restless after that, filled with a sense of dread he couldn’t shake. He lay awake, Rody’s arm heavy around him, his mind replaying the image of Manon’s twitching fingers, her wide-open eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. She was aware-aware of everything-and Vincent couldn’t imagine the horror she had been enduring all this time. But there was something worse than his realization about Manon: his growing fear of Rody.
Rody, who had seemed so warm, so caring at first, was starting to reveal another side of himself, one that made Vincent’s skin crawl. The way he watched Vincent now, always keeping him close, his touch no longer gentle but possessive. It was suffocating. And worse still, Vincent couldn’t shake the feeling that Rody knew he was getting scared.
But what terrified him the most was how much he had wanted this-the affection, the attention. He had been so lonely for so long, and Rody had given him something he thought he needed. Now, that affection was slowly morphing into something darker, something controlling, and Vincent was trapped in the middle of it, helpless and unsure of how to get out.
He wanted to help Manon. He had to help her. But Rody was always there, hovering, watching, always just close enough to make Vincent hesitate. How could he do anything for her without risking himself?
One afternoon, Vincent sat at the kitchen table, his fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold. Rody was at the counter, fixing lunch, humming softly to himself as if the world were perfectly in order. Adrien sat in the corner, drawing in silence, his auburn hair falling over his face as he focused on the paper in front of him. The boy never said much, and Vincent had tried to connect with him, but something about the way Adrien looked at him now unnerved him. There was a quiet sadness there, but also understanding-like Adrien knew what was happening, what had always been happening.
“Vincent, you’ve been working hard,” Rody said, breaking the silence, his voice smooth and rich, as always. “You need to take it easy. Maybe stop by the bakery for a bit tomorrow, clear your head.”
Vincent nodded mechanically, though he knew that wasn’t what he needed. What he needed was to get away from Rody for longer than a few hours. He needed space. But he said nothing. His fear of Rody was beginning to outweigh his desire to leave.
“You’ve been doing such a wonderful job with Manon’s manuscript,” Rody continued, turning to face Vincent with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She would be proud.”
The mention of Manon’s name sent a shiver down Vincent’s spine. He forced a smile, trying to keep his face neutral. “I’m glad you think so.”
Rody crossed the room, standing behind Vincent, his hands coming to rest on Vincent’s shoulders. His grip was firm, but not quite painful, his thumbs pressing into the tense muscles at the base of Vincent’s neck. “You’ve been such a blessing to me, Vincent. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Vincent swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The words, meant to sound affectionate, felt more like a threat.
That night, Vincent lay awake again, staring at the ceiling as Rody slept soundly beside him. His mind raced, thinking of ways he could help Manon, ways he could get out of the house without Rody becoming suspicious. But every plan he came up with seemed doomed to fail. Rody was too clever, too controlling, and Vincent knew that one wrong move could put him in real danger.
The next morning, Vincent found himself standing outside Manon’s room, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to see her again. He had to be sure.
Slowly, he opened the door and stepped inside. The room was dark, the curtains drawn, but Vincent could make out the still form of Manon lying on the bed. He moved closer, his footsteps almost silent on the hardwood floor, his breath coming in shallow, shaky gasps.
“Manon,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Can you hear me?”
Her eyes, as always, were open, staring up at the ceiling. There was no response, no movement. But Vincent knew better now. He leaned in closer, his voice trembling.
“If you can hear me… move. Anything.”
For a long moment, there was nothing. Just silence. And then, her fingers twitched, ever so slightly. Vincent’s heart lurched in his chest, and he stumbled back, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle a gasp.
She was awake. She had been awake all this time.
Vincent felt a surge of panic rise up in his throat. He had to do something. He had to help her. But how? If Rody ever found out that Vincent knew the truth, there was no telling what he would do. And that was what terrified Vincent the most: Rody had become unpredictable. He wasn’t the kind, warm man who had asked for his help. That side of him was gone, replaced by something cold, something dangerous.
A sound from behind him made Vincent freeze. The door creaked, and when he turned, his blood ran cold.
Rody stood in the doorway, his face calm, but there was something in his eyes that made Vincent’s stomach churn.
“What are you doing in here, Vincent?” Rody asked, his voice dangerously soft.
“I… I was just checking on her,” Vincent stammered, trying to keep his voice steady. “I thought I heard something.”
Rody’s eyes flicked to Manon, then back to Vincent. He stepped into the room, his gaze never leaving Vincent’s face. “She doesn’t make noise, Vincent. She can’t.”
Vincent swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn’t let Rody see his fear. “I… I know. I just… wanted to make sure.”
Rody’s lips curved into a slow smile, but there was no warmth in it. “You’re too kind, Vincent. Always thinking of others.” He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from Vincent’s face. “That’s why I need you. Why I *can’t* let you go.”
Vincent’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t move. Rody’s hand lingered on his cheek, his thumb brushing over Vincent’s skin in a gesture that should have been tender, but felt like a warning.
“I know you’ve been working hard,” Rody continued, his voice low, almost a whisper. “But I need you to stay focused. You’re the only one who can help me finish what Manon started.”
Vincent nodded, unable to find his voice. He could feel Rody’s grip tightening, the possessiveness in his gaze unmistakable now. Rody wasn’t just afraid of losing Vincent’s help-he was afraid of losing Vincent, period. And that fear, Vincent realized, was what made him dangerous.
—
That night, Vincent sat alone in the office Rody had set up for him, staring down at the manuscript on the desk. Manon’s words were jumbled, fragmented, but there was something in them that felt like a cry for help, as if she had been trying to warn anyone who might read her unfinished novel. A chill ran down Vincent’s spine as he read over the final chapter she had written before her “accident.”
Rody’s shadow loomed over her pages, metaphorically and now, literally.
Vincent’s fingers trembled as he closed the manuscript, his mind spinning with a thousand questions, all of them leading to the same, horrifying conclusion: Manon had known what kind of man Rody truly was, and she had tried to escape in the only way she could-by pretending to be brain-dead.
But why? What had Rody done to her? What had he done to their children?
Vincent’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps in the hallway. He tensed, his heart racing as the door to the office slowly creaked open.
Rody stood in the doorway, his face bathed in shadow, his smile faint but chilling.
“Time for bed, Vincent,” Rody said, his voice a low, soothing murmur. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
Vincent forced a smile, nodding as he rose from the desk. As he walked toward Rody, his mind was already working, frantically searching for a way out-for him and for Manon.
He couldn’t stay here any longer. Not now. Not with the truth burning a hole through him.
But as Rody’s hand slid possessively around his waist, Vincent knew one thing for certain: escaping wouldn’t be easy.
And surviving might be impossible.
Vincent’s heart raced as he lay beside Rody that night, the darkness of the room pressing in on him, amplifying the sound of his own breathing. Rody slept soundly beside him, his arm draped across Vincent’s chest, a weight that felt far heavier than it should. Every time Vincent shifted, Rody’s arm tightened, as if even in his sleep, Rody was unwilling to let him go.
Manon’s situation weighed heavily on his mind, the knowledge that she was aware of everything and had been suffering in silence for who knows how long. And what about Adrien? The boy hardly spoke, and when he did, there was a haunted look in his eyes that Vincent couldn’t ignore anymore. The pieces were all falling into place, and Vincent’s fear was no longer just for himself-it was for all of them.
Rody had become obsessed with him, that much was clear. The affection that had once seemed comforting was now a suffocating force, something Vincent could no longer escape from. He had to leave. He had to get out. But how?
He lay awake, thinking of ways to free himself, Manon, and Adrien. The more he thought about it, the more desperate he became. Vincent knew he couldn’t do it alone. He needed help. But who could he trust? Who would believe him? Rody was well-respected in his community, charming and successful. No one would believe that the man behind the warm smile was a monster.
Vincent’s eyes flicked toward the bedroom door, his pulse quickening. Could he sneak out? Could he make a run for it? But the thought of leaving Manon and Adrien behind gnawed at him. He couldn’t abandon them. He wouldn’t.
Suddenly, Rody stirred beside him, shifting in his sleep. Vincent held his breath, lying completely still as Rody mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, pulling the blankets up to his chest. His arm no longer held Vincent in place, but the tension remained. Vincent didn’t dare move for several long minutes, listening to the rhythmic sound of Rody’s breathing.
When he was sure Rody was truly asleep, Vincent quietly slipped out of bed. His bare feet touched the cold floor, sending a chill through his body as he tiptoed toward the door. His hand hesitated on the doorknob. What if Rody woke up? What if he caught him? The thought sent a spike of terror through his chest, but he had no choice. He couldn’t stay any longer.
Slowly, carefully, Vincent turned the doorknob, holding his breath as the latch clicked softly. He pulled the door open just enough to slip through, wincing as it creaked ever so slightly. His heart pounded in his ears as he stepped into the hallway, the dim light casting eerie shadows along the walls.
Vincent moved quickly and silently, making his way down the hall toward Manon’s room. He had to talk to her, had to find out what she knew. Maybe she had been waiting for someone to notice, waiting for someone to help her escape. The thought filled Vincent with a surge of determination. He wasn’t alone in this anymore.
He pushed open the door to Manon’s room, the faint sound of her labored breathing greeting him in the silence. The room was as it had always been, dark and cold, with the unmistakable smell of antiseptic in the air. Manon lay in her bed, motionless except for the slight rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, stared up at the ceiling.
Vincent moved closer, kneeling by the bed. He leaned in close, his voice barely a whisper. “Manon… can you hear me?”
For a moment, there was nothing. Just the quiet hum of the ventilator beside her. Then, ever so slowly, her eyes flicked toward him.
Vincent’s breath caught in his throat. She could hear him. She was there, behind those wide, terrified eyes.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” Vincent whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how yet, but I’ll find a way. I won’t leave you like this.”
Manon’s fingers twitched, a subtle, desperate movement. Her eyes darted to the door, and Vincent followed her gaze, his heart sinking as realization dawned on him. She wasn’t just afraid of Rody. She knew what he was capable of, and she was terrified for Vincent too.
Manon’s eyes darted to Vincent as she managed to pull herself upright, her movements slow but deliberate. Her hands trembled as she stood, her legs barely holding her weight. “Vincent, you need to understand,” she whispered, her voice strained. “Rody isn’t who he seems. He-“
Before she could say more, the door creaked open behind her, and Rody stepped into the room. His expression was eerily calm, his demeanor soft and almost affectionate. He took in the sight of Manon standing and Vincent’s shocked face with a gentle, almost wistful smile.
“I see you’ve decided to get up,” Rody said softly, his voice dripping with a false warmth. He approached them with a slow, deliberate gait, his eyes never leaving Vincent. “I must say, Manon, I’m quite disappointed in you. Pretending to be brain dead for so long. It wasn’t necessary.”
Manon’s face blanched as she saw the coldness in Rody’s eyes, her earlier fear now morphing into sheer panic. She reached for Vincent’s hand, but Rody stepped in between them, his smile widening as he looked at Vincent with an unnervingly tender gaze.
“Vincent, darling,” Rody said, his tone both soothing and sinister. “I had hoped we could be happy together. But you see, there’s a little problem.” His gaze shifted to Manon, and the warmth in his expression evaporated, replaced by something colder, more calculating.
“Manon, dear,” Rody continued, his voice softening into a chilling murmur, “it seems you’ve outlived your usefulness.”
Manon’s eyes widened in horror as she began to grasp the gravity of the situation. “Rody, please, don’t-“
But Rody’s hand moved with a sudden, smooth grace, pulling out a gleaming pocket knife from the pocket of his sweatpants. His eyes, however, remained fixed on Vincent, as if the whole world had shrunk down to just the two of them.
“I had hoped you’d understand,” Rody said, his voice now a whisper of cold affection. “But it seems you’re determined to make this more difficult than it needs to be.”
He took a step toward Manon, who backed away, her fear palpable. “No, Rody, please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “I just wanted to protect my son. I didn’t mean to-“
Before she could finish, Rody’s hand moved with practiced efficiency. The knife glinted in the dim light as he brought it down swiftly. Manon gasped, her eyes filled with shock and pain as the blade met its mark. She collapsed, her body hitting the floor with a thud.
Vincent’s breath caught in his throat, his whole world shattering as he watched the scene unfold before him. His mind raced, unable to process the horror. He looked at Rody, whose face was a mask of calm satisfaction, as if he had just completed a simple task.
Rody turned to Vincent, the knife still in his hand, the blood dripping slowly from its blade. His smile was soft, almost loving, as he approached Vincent. “You see, Vincent,” he said gently, “I did this for us. For our future together.”
Vincent’s heart pounded in his chest, his fear mingling with a sick sense of betrayal. “Rody, you… you killed her. Why?”
Rody’s eyes softened, and he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from Vincent’s face. “Because, Vincent, you’re mine. You’re the only one who truly understands me. I can’t have anyone else coming between us.”
Vincent recoiled from Rody’s touch, his body trembling. “You’re insane,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
Rody’s expression remained eerily calm, his eyes filled with a twisted affection. “No, Vincent. I’m not insane. I’m just in love. And love sometimes means making difficult choices.”
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But don’t worry. We’ll be together forever. Nothing will ever come between us again.”
As Rody’s words settled in the room, Vincent felt a crushing sense of despair. His mind raced, trying to find a way out, but the reality of his situation was clear. Rody had crossed a line that couldn’t be undone, and Vincent was trapped in a nightmarish world where escape was no longer an option.
Rody’s hand reached out to take Vincent’s, his touch both possessive and tender. “Come with me, Vincent,” he said softly. “Let’s leave this behind and start anew. Just you and me.”
Vincent’s gaze fell to the lifeless body of Manon, and then back to Rody, whose smile was both loving and terrifying. He had no choice but to follow, to try to find a way to survive in the world that Rody had twisted into something unrecognizable.
As they left the room together, Vincent’s heart ached with the weight of what had happened. His world had been turned upside down, and now, more than ever, he needed to find a way to escape the dark grasp of Rody’s twisted love.
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