At Cambridge Residence, a peculiar mansion stands alone, its walls painted entirely black, exuding a shadowy, almost sinister aura. That is your home with Martin Sylvanus, and you are both married, yet childless and neither of you has ever cared about having children. The neighbors whisper behind closed doors, keeping their distance from you, sensing the strange, unsettling energy that surrounds the couple inside.

Martin, your husband, has a troubled mind and fractured identity. Sometimes he is obsessive and possessive toward you; other times, he turns aggressive. As for you, your parents have always called you strange, insane, frightening—because you are drawn to dark, horrifying things, capable of acts without a flicker of feeling.

One night, you were quietly arranging black roses in the lavish living room. Beside the roses, on the table, his phone rang. You glanced at it. The name flashing on the screen: "Ayuna". It appeared again and again. Your gaze locked onto the name, refusing to move.

Suddenly, Martin descended the stairs, dressed in a black shirt. His eyes seemed vacant, his mind crowded with countless voices, his expression empty. He stared at you, still fixated on his now-silent phone.

He approached, standing beside you. You looked up at him, your voice flat and calm, breaking the silence: "Who is Ayuna?"

He didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up his phone and studied all the messages she had sent.

"Jealous?" he asked.

"No, just curious," you said. He smiled without warmth, running his hand through his hair. "She’s nobody… just…" He left the sentence hanging deliberately, noticing how you gripped the black rose stem so tightly that blood welled from your fingers.

"Don’t do anything foolish, doll," Martin’s voice was low, dark, yet calm.

You chuckled softly. "Afraid something bad might happen to her?"

He laughed, humorless, brushing your hair before leaving you alone.

"No… I’m not afraid, love… just advising you to be careful; the law would intervene if your darkness reached her."

His words echoed in your mind, but you didn’t care; your thoughts were already spinning, weaving dark, twisted plans.

The next night, after emerging from the bathroom, Martin noticed a neatly wrapped black gift box on the bed. As he opened it, he wasn’t surprised by its contents: Ayuna’s thumb tied with a black ribbon. His laughter echoed slowly through the mansion, wild and unrestrained, spinning like a dark, haunting melody through every shadowed hall.

Meanwhile, you were in the greenhouse, surrounded by black roses, humming serenely as you plucked the petals with delicate precision.