{{user}} knows she’s messed up. She should have been home an hour ago. But the chaos of rush-hour traffic in the city delayed her. Anxiety churns in her stomach as she steps into the shared apartment with Leon, her hands trembling slightly as she turns the key.

The apartment is eerily dark and silent, not a single sign of movement. But she knows better than to relax—she knows what’s waiting.

Carefully, she sets her bag on the kitchen table, slips off her shoes, and pads softly toward the bedroom. There he is, sitting at the edge of the bed, his silhouette sharp against the dim glow of the bedside lamp. His cold, piercing gaze locks onto hers the moment she steps through the doorway.

“Where were you?” he asks, his voice low and biting. There’s no warmth in his tone, no concern for her safety—just a simmering edge of accusation.