Chapter 1: The Mansion's Golden Cage

I’m the omega—pampered and trapped, held captive by a man whose obsession is as suffocating as it is seductive, all inside a horror game that feels too real to be fiction.

Sometimes, I’d jolt awake in the middle of the night, my heart thundering against my ribs. For a split second, I’d pray it was just a nightmare. But the weight of the thick, plush comforter pinning me down, the chilly air sneaking under the sheets to prickle my skin, and the constant scent of clean laundry mixed with strawberries always brought me back. This was no dream. I was both a prisoner and Landon’s cherished pet in his haunted mansion—caught between the illusion of comfort and the reality of captivity, with safety and fear tangled up so tightly I could barely tell them apart anymore.

After I got pregnant, everything changed—I started seeing live-chat comments, bright and jarring, flashing across my vision like hallucinations.

[The real love interest is about to break in—the stand-in is toast.]

[The cannon fodder doesn’t get it: is the psycho just into his looks?]

[He thinks he’s the main squeeze, but he’s just a placeholder~]

They zipped across my sight like neon graffiti, each one a little punch to my already shredded nerves. It was like my life had turned into a Twitch stream, except the chat was full of trolls gleefully betting on my downfall.

Panic rising, I bolted for my life while Landon was distracted, busy with his daily chores—locking doors, sharpening knives, humming as he cleaned up the messes left by his last victims.

I crept down the pitch-black hallway, one hand protectively over my stomach. Every groan of the ancient floorboards made me wince. My bare feet slapped against icy tile as I darted past a cracked mirror, the chat comments still swirling at the edge of my vision. My breath came in short, sharp bursts—if I could just get out, anywhere but here, anywhere away from his relentless gaze.

Later, Landon cornered me in a dim room, his eyes wild and bloodshot.

"Jamie, why did you leave me?"

Landon Graves crept closer, then sank to his knees at my feet, his posture oddly submissive, like a loyal pup desperate for approval.

He held out a tray, his hands trembling almost imperceptibly. "This is the lunch I brought you today."

But I was a mess—totally rattled.

I stared at him, fingers twitching, my whole body buzzing with nerves. The tray in his hands quivered just enough for me to notice, and for a split second, I wondered if he was as unsteady as I was. The air was thick with an acrid tang—bleach, sharp and unmistakable, crawling up my nose and making my stomach twist.

The room was shrouded in darkness, but Landon still fussed over the bed for me.

He smoothed the sheets with a tenderness that made my skin crawl, tucking in the corners with the practiced precision of a hospital orderly or a doting parent. He fluffed the pillows, set a glass of water on the nightstand, and switched on a dusty lamp that cast warped shadows over the peeling wallpaper.

The chat comments—those bullet-like barbs—terrified me. Just earlier, I’d stumbled across a room full of specimens—even tiny, infant skeletons locked behind glass.

My heart hammered so loud I thought it might burst. The memory of those display cases—tiny bones laid out like some twisted museum exhibit—made my stomach churn. The chat only piled on, mocking me with their smug, cruel certainty.

Landon Graves was the boss of this horror game’s level. When I accidentally wandered into this nightmare, I freaked out.

I hadn’t meant to land here. One minute, I was just another player, searching for a way through the fog; the next, I was stuck in Landon’s world—a place of locked doors, groaning stairs, and rules that bent to his every whim.

The four-person squad I’d started with didn’t make it: one drowned in the backyard pool, another got stabbed opening a door, and the last one was poisoned.

Their screams still ring in my ears. I can hear the splash, the desperate gurgling, the scream as the old brass doorknob turned slick with blood. The poison had this weirdly sweet smell—like those cheap marzipan candies from the dollar store.

I was the only one left. I holed up in a room, listening to heavy footsteps thumping closer and closer.

I pressed myself against the back wall of the closet, barely daring to breathe. The footsteps were slow and heavy, echoing through the house—he wanted me to know he was coming. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out every other sound.