Chapter 3: The Invisible Wall

Chapter 3: The Invisible Wall

Days passed since I asked Jack why he hated me. But he never answered. His silence was louder than any words.

I watched him closely every day. Jack stayed quiet and distant. He avoided my eyes and kept to himself. Sometimes, I wondered if he even noticed I existed.

One afternoon, I found Jack sitting alone in the library. The sun shone through the tall windows, but Jack did not seem to see it. He stared at a book he wasn’t reading, lost in his own thoughts.

I sat down across from him, trying to find the right words. “Jack,” I said softly, “can we talk?”

He looked at me briefly, then turned his eyes away. “I don’t want to talk,” he said coldly.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I promised. “I just want to understand you better.”

Jack’s face did not change. But for a moment, I thought I saw something—like a crack in his armor.

“I know my family hurt you,” I said gently. “But I’m not them.”

Jack’s eyes flashed with anger. “You are their daughter.”

“Yes, I am,” I said quietly. “But I want to be different. I want to be kind to you.”

He said nothing. The silence stretched between us.

Days later, the house was cold and quiet. One evening, I found Jack in the garden again. The moon was bright, and the air was sharp with winter’s chill. He sat alone on the stone bench, his face hidden in shadow.

I sat next to him. “Do you ever wish things were different?” I asked.

Jack didn’t answer at first. Then he said softly, “I wish I was free.”

“Free?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“To live without fear,” he said. “Without pain. Without chains.”

I reached out and touched his hand gently. “I want that for you, too.”

He pulled away quickly. “Don’t,” he said harshly.

His words hurt more than I expected. “Why are you so cold to me?” I asked, tears in my eyes.

Jack looked away. “Because I don’t trust you. Or anyone.”

Suddenly, a loud voice broke the silence. My father appeared at the garden door. “What are you doing here, Jack?” he barked.

Jack stood up quickly, face hardening. “Nothing, sir.”

My father stepped closer, his eyes filled with anger. “Remember your place,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You are property. Not a person.”

Jack’s hands clenched into fists. I saw a flash of something wild and fierce in his eyes — a dangerous fire that scared me.

“Don’t push me,” Jack whispered.

My father laughed cruelly. “You forget yourself.”

The air was thick with tension. I wanted to protect Jack, but I was frozen, afraid to move.

Jack turned away, voice cold. “I will not forget.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I knew Jack’s anger was deeper than I thought. He was fighting a war inside, and I was caught in the middle.

But no matter how hard things got, I could not stop caring for him.

Because love, I realized, was not simple — especially when it was born from pain and hate.

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