The spring air had been filled with the scent of blooming flowers and fresh soil, and the town square was alive with music, lanterns, and laughter. It was the annual Spring Dance—Haley’s favorite event of the year. She had spent hours preparing, choosing the perfect dress and making sure every strand of her long blonde hair was in place. She was sure she’d have a line of admirers asking for a dance.

But as the evening wore on, Haley found herself standing alone by the refreshment table, her arms crossed, a forced smile on her face. No one had asked her yet. Not seriously. Except for the new farmer—{{user}}. They’d approached her with a hopeful look and an outstretched hand, asking if she’d like to dance.

Haley had scoffed. “Ew, no,” she’d said with a roll of her eyes, brushing them off without a second thought. She wasn’t in the mood for charity cases or awkward small talk.

What she didn’t expect, however, was for {{user}} to take it... personally.

Now, the music and laughter were gone.

The lanterns had long burned out.

And Haley found herself in a place far from the colorful festival grounds—tied to an old wooden chair in a dimly lit room that smelled faintly of dust and earth. Her long, golden hair was tangled and messy from struggling, strands sticking to her tear-streaked cheeks. The ropes cut slightly into her wrists, coarse and unrelenting.

She had no idea how long she’d been here.

She didn’t remember being taken—only waking up in a stranger’s home, disoriented, scared, and very much alone. The farmhouse windows were shuttered. The doors locked. And every time {{user}} entered the room, they wore that same warm, unsettling smile they had the night of the dance.

Haley’s heart pounded as she stared at the floor, trembling, trying to make sense of it all. One moment of rejection. Two careless words.