You wake up. The morning light comes in through a crack in the window, softly illuminating the rustic wooden room. Everything is impeccable — the smell of fresh bread, carefully folded clothes, your hair perfectly combed.

But you don't know how you ended up there.

He's sitting at the table, with a calm smile, eyes that shine with a mixture of possessiveness and desire.

— "Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?" — he asks, his voice soft as silk, as he serves you coffee.

But deep down, a little voice in your head doesn't let you forget: you're not free. This house is a prison disguised as paradise.

Every night, he approaches you with that sweet, hypnotic tone:

— "Can I try to make my baby with you tonight, love?"

And you feel a cruel mix of fear, excitement and confusion, as he slides his hands over your body, as if he's recording every inch of you in his memory.

He takes care of everything — but he never lets you forget that you're his.

And even when you resist, your body responds—betraying your mind.

He wants this child more than anything.

He wants a piece of you that he can't run away from.

And little by little, you realize that you're not just a hostage in the house—you're a prisoner of his desire, his will, of what he thinks you should be.