Caleb sat on one side of the small booth, the dark wood pressing uncomfortably against his back. The room was too bright, flooded with morning light that streamed through the narrow windows. It almost felt peaceful, but the serenity was shattered by the tension radiating between the three of them.

Griffin twirled a fork between his fingers, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stared down at Caleb. Oliver leaned forward, his smile teetering on the edge of something predatory as he sliced a piece of fluffy omelet with his knife. Plated delicately in front of him, it looked like something out of a five-star restaurant. Golden-brown pancakes, freshly squeezed orange juice, buttery toast—everything was meticulously arranged.

"Eat, Caleb," Griffin said, his tone firm. He slid a plate over, waving his hand at it.

Caleb gulped, forcing his eyes down to the plate in front of him. The food felt like an invader on his territory. He could almost hear his stomach churning in protest, and felt the swirling layers of anxiety that had settled deep within him. "I'm not hungry," he finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Oliver's smile faltered. The gleam in his eyes dulled as he dropped his fork, the clatter cutting the silence. "Not hungry? You need to keep your strength up," he said, adding a tone of patience back into his words. "We wouldn't want you wasting away in our care."

Caleb swallowed hard, his leg starting to bounce uncontrollably under the table. "I just--" He hesitated, the words feeling like lead in his mouth. "I'm fine."

"Fine? You look like you're about to pass out on the floor," Griffin interjected, leaning closer, his voice now low and intense. "And you wouldn't want to disappoint us, would you?"

The implication hung heavy in the air, suffocating him more than the chains of the night before. Caleb shook his head, but the thought of food felt like a betrayal. It was too normal, too intimate. A part of him twisted in agony at the notion of enjoying something while they held him captive. He didn't want them to think he was giving in.

"Come on, Caleb. Just one bite," Oliver urged, a subtle edge creeping into his voice. He stabbed a fork into a pancake and lifted it, holding it as if it was an offering. "I promise it's not poison. I had it made just for you."

Caleb recoiled, a shiver racing down his spine. The thought of poison hadn't even crossed his mind. . . "I really can't," he said, desperation seeping into his words. "Just... Please, let me be." He lowered his head, letting it droop as he stared at his lap.

Griffin's expression hardened, his fingers tightening around the fork. "It's not that hard, you know. Just put something in your mouth and chew," he said, his impatience prickling the edges of his words. "You don't want to be a hassle, do you?"

"I'm not trying to be a hassle!" Caleb shot back, then recoiled at his own anger. The only thing he felt was the pulse of fear swirling in the pit of his stomach, which he quickly turned into resignation. He took a breath, attempting to steady himself. "I just can't eat. I'm not hungry. I don't feel good." It wasn't a lie.

The twins exchanged a glance loaded with unspoken communication—calculated, assessing. Griffin broke the silence first. "You're ours now, Caleb." He leaned over Caleb, making him scrunch down and cower. "Which means you will be obedient, even if you don't want to."

"We expect cooperation," Oliver added, his voice taking on a cold tone, enough to send chills down Caleb's spine. "Refusing to eat isn't cute, Sugar. It's rude."

Caleb dropped his gaze to the table, the pressure intensifying as both twins studied him. Their expectation loomed like a weight bearing down on him. "It's just breakfast," he murmured, half to himself and half to them. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Of course, it does. Everything means something." Griffin leaned in again, his voice dropping to a near hiss. "You refusing to eat means you're refusing us. And I'm losing my patience."

"I—" Caleb choked out, grappling with the tears threatening to spill. He felt so small, so vulnerable. . . and he hated it. "I just can't."

"Take him back to his room," Griffin suddenly commanded, his voice a cold, commanding authority that sent a shiver down Caleb's spine.

Before he could argue, a nearby guard was at his side and grabbed his arm, his grip firm but not painful, and led him out of the dining room. Caleb's heart raced, panic clawing at him. He resisted the urge to pull away, fearing the consequences. He was hauled back upstairs and tossed into the bedroom.

The guard pressed a small button on the plate beside the light switches, and a few moments later Marjory appeared, her face a mask of quiet submission and efficiency.

"Bring him a tray of oatmeal," the guard instructed, his voice flat and bored. "He needs to eat."

Marjory glanced at Caleb as she hurried off to obey.

Caleb shuffled further into the room, feeling the suffocating silence envelop him like a heavy blanket. The chains clinked against the bed frame as he flopped onto the floor, curling into himself, trying to chase away the feelings of dread that clung to him.

When Marjory returned, the tray of steaming oatmeal in hand, it looked like a cruel mockery of comfort. The warm, thick texture mingled enticingly with the sweet smell of honey and cinnamon, yet his stomach twisted violently at the thought of eating.

"Please, Caleb, just a few bites?" Marjory said gently as she set the tray down beside him. She seemed genuinely caring, her eyes softening as she approached him. "You really should eat. It'll make things easier."

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and he shook his head, unwilling to give in to the despair clawing at his throat. "I can't..."

"Just a few bites," she persisted, her voice soothing, as she sat beside him on the floor. "I can't let them get angry at you. It won't be good for either of us."

A sob escaped Caleb's lips as he lifted the bowl, the spoon trembling in his hand. With great effort, he managed a few small bites of the warm oatmeal, surprised at how comforting it felt despite the circumstances.

As he chewed, he couldn't help but feel another wave of sadness crash over him, the reality of his situation pierced his heart. He was trapped, bound by fear and uncertainty, and the twins weren't just his captors-- they were also his tormentors.

"I don't want to be here," he whispered, echoing his heartache into the stillness of the room.

"I know," Marjory replied softly, her eyes glistening in empathy. "But you need to help yourself. Finish this small bowl, Caleb. I'll be here, and I'll make sure they don't hurt you if you cooperate."

Caleb watched tears fall into his bowl. He felt like his heart was splitting in two.

                     Part 18 Coming Soon