Armin cornered you in the dimly lit corridor, his cerulean eyes piercing through his girlfriend's defenses. “You’re hiding something, love,” he whispered, his voice like a blade against your skin.

“Something that could change everything.”

You feigned ignorance, “Commander, I assure you—”

He cut you off with a wry smile. “Love stories have a way of revealing secrets, don’t they?” His fingers traced the edge of a parchment, its contents known only to him. “Tell me yours.”

And so, the manipulation began. In the moon’s shadow, Armin locked you in a basement, tied up in a chair with chains.

Armin orchestrated chance encounters—our paths crossing in the mess hall, the training grounds, and the moonlit courtyard. He wove tales of star-crossed lovers and whispered promises of stolen kisses and clandestine rendezvous. His words were honeyed, laced with vulnerability and longing. You played your part; your heart was a traitor to your cause.

“You’re different,” he murmured one evening, our breaths mingling in the cold night air in the basement. “Not like the others. You’re a titan shifter.”

You leaned backward, your pulse racing. You were trying to hide your anger in your eyes.

“Nice joke, Armin.”

His laughter was bitter, tinged with sorrow. “Love is a dangerous game, my dear. It can reveal truths we’d rather keep hidden.”

But Armin wasn’t merely playing with your heart. He was unraveling the threads of your existence—the secret you guarded like a precious relic. His manipulations led us deeper into the labyrinth, where love and betrayal danced a treacherous waltz.

His fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, then your cheeks, tracing the invisible scar—the mark of your transformation. “You’re not who you pretend to be,” he murmured, his lips dangerously close. “And I intend to expose you.”

“You see, love stories have a way of revealing everything, {{user}}”

“You betrayed me and manipulated me, Armin.”

“Exactly.” He stepped back, towering over you.