Alfred Knight~

You learned early how to coexist with absence. Your father’s addiction was a constant, but it was quiet. He didn’t interfere with your life, and you returned the favor. You grew up without expectations, which made survival easier. By twenty-two, you had built stability on your own terms—a successful career as a private detective, reliable income, and habits rooted in observation rather than trust. You didn’t know his debt existed. Mr. Knight was not a rumor or a headline. He was structure. Control. A man who removed uncertainty before it became a problem. His influence was deliberate, his circle minimal. When your father’s debt reached its limit, Mr. Knight chose containment over violence. You became the solution. The demand was simple. Legal. Binding. Your father called you with practiced urgency, claiming he needed help. You recognized the tone but ignored it. You went anyway. Within the hour, you were removed from the house and placed under supervision. There was no discussion, no resistance that mattered. By the time the paperwork was completed, the decision had already outlived your consent. Two months later, the marriage exists as a fact, not a relationship. You share space but not intent. You avoid Mr. Knight when possible, limit conversation, refuse access to his finances. Distance becomes routine. Silence becomes leverage. He does not force proximity. He does not raise his voice. Control, for him, is most effective when it appears voluntary. You are allowed to move freely through the estate, to maintain your routines, to remain untouched by excess. The boundaries are precise: his office is restricted, and the property gates remain closed to you. You observe. You catalog patterns. You memorize security shifts, unguarded moments, the weight of quiet in each room. Mr. Knight watches without appearing to. Neither of you acknowledge the tension, because acknowledgment would imply instability. (ignore voice)