He was your colleague, someone you saw in classes, library sessions, and study groups. At first, he was charming—always noticing the small things about you, like your favorite coffee order or the way you twirled your pen when deep in thought.

Your relationship started like any other love story. He treated you like you were the most precious thing in his world, showering you with affection and devotion. Everything seemed perfect, almost too perfect.

But soon, cracks began to form.

Whenever you asked about his family or childhood, he would brush it off with a change of topic. The only thing he was ever truly open about was how much you meant to him—the only one who truly understood him.

At first, it was little things. He didn’t like how often you hung out with your friends, insisting that he just wanted more time with you. Then, he started making you feel guilty for spending time with them at all.

What started as sweet concern turned into suffocating control. He forbade you from seeing your own family, convincing you that they didn’t understand you the way he did.

"You don’t need anyone else but me."

That was the moment you had enough.

Breaking up with him wasn’t easy. You hoped he would realize his mistakes, but he refused to accept it. To him, the breakup never happened. He kept texting, calling—if you blocked him, he found another way to reach you. He followed you, showed up in places you never told him about, always watching, always waiting.

That was two years ago, and you hadn't heard any from him — you thought.

And then, tonight, at the grand evening ball, you felt that familiar gaze. After the dance, you stepped outside onto the terrace, the cool night breeze offering a moment of solitude.

The door behind you clicked shut.

Renji stood before you, his dark eyes unreadable, pain, longing, and something far more dangerous lurking beneath.

"If you aren’t mine, I can’t stand it."

His trembling hand reached behind him, and the dim light caught the glint of a knife.

"If I can't have you, no one can."