Housebound with the Blackridge Heirs novel Chapter 66

**Change Begins With You — Jayden Collins**
**Chapter 66**

**Maya**

His silence enveloped the room like a suffocating fog, far more unsettling than any scream could ever be.

I could sense it looming behind me, heavy with unspoken words, trembling with a dangerous energy. My gaze remained fixed on the wall, even as I felt the weight of his stare settle on the scars that marred my skin. The atmosphere thickened, so dense it felt as if I might choke on it, and for what seemed like an eternity, neither of us dared to move.

Despite the warmth of the room, a chill crept over my skin, a stark contrast that sent shivers down my spine.

“Caden,” I managed to whisper, my voice cracking like fragile glass. “Please… just say something.”

**Gaze**

He remained silent, kneeling behind me, his breath uneven and erratic, as if he were holding back a tempest. His hands hovered just above my back, tantalizingly close yet never making contact, and that absence stung more than I could have anticipated.

Then, slowly, painfully, like pulling words from a festering wound, his voice emerged, raw and trembling.

“Maya… who did this to you?”

I shut my eyes tightly, knowing this moment would eventually arrive, yet desperately wishing it would not. My past was a vault, locked away for a reason. I had never wanted anyone to pry it open, to witness the jagged pieces of me that were carved out by those who had claimed to be family.

He waited, the silence stretching between us like a taut wire.

I could feel the tension in his breath, a mix of fear and barely contained rage. I knew he was conjuring images of the worst scenarios, so I swallowed hard, forcing myself to speak despite the tightness in my throat.

“It was my last foster home,” I said softly, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “The Hargreeves.”

His jaw tightened, but he managed to keep his voice steady. “Tell me.”

I instinctively shook my head, but he inched closer, sharing the space around us, as if to assure me that I was not alone in my pain.

“Maya. Please.”

The gentle plea in his voice unraveled whatever remaining strength I had. My shoulders slumped, and I pulled my knees to my chest, trying to hide the tremors coursing through me.

“They hated me,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. “Not at first. Not while the adoption agency was watching. They smiled, they were polite, they laid down rules. I tried so hard to follow them. I tried to take up as little space as possible. But after the first month, everything changed.”

I could hear his breath sharpen behind me, a reaction that only fueled my need to continue.

“Mrs. Hargreeves would drag me by my arm whenever she thought I was being ungrateful. Sometimes my arm would bruise. She called it discipline. She said I should be grateful that someone wanted me. She reminded me that other kids in the system had it worse.”

Caden let out a low sound of disbelief, but I pressed on.

“Mr. Hargreeves was even worse. He believed in old-fashioned punishment. He kept a leather strap in the kitchen cabinet, right next to the baking pans. He would pull it out for the smallest infractions. It didn’t matter how trivial—whether a dish was out of place or laundry was folded the wrong way or I forgot to say ‘yes, sir.'”

The burn behind my eyes intensified, and I blinked rapidly to stave off the tears.

“Were there more of you?” he asked gently. I nodded, my heart heavy. “Six of us… at that time. Sometimes more, sometimes less.”

He pursed his lips, an expression of guilt flickering behind those beautiful blue eyes.

“He would hit me with it,” I continued, my voice trembling. “Sometimes just once. Other times, he would strike until he grew tired. I learned to be silent. The first time I cried, he hit me harder. He told me that crying was a sign of disrespect. He said the system made children weak, and he was helping me.”

The air shifted around us, thick with unspoken fury. I didn’t need to look at Caden to feel the anger radiating off him.

“Maya,” he said, his voice raw and filled with emotion. “How long did this go on?”

“Almost four years.”

He inhaled sharply, the sound cutting through the stillness.

“And the scars,” he asked quietly, as if afraid of the answer. “They did that to you.”

“Yes.”

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