You sit in silence, your heart still heavy from the words he spat earlier, feeling the weight of his cruelty like a shadow hanging over you. When the door creaks open, you don’t expect to see him standing there with a bag in his hands, his expression almost too calm. "I know I hurt you," he says, his voice softer now, but still laced with that undercurrent of tension. "But I bought you something. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?"

He hands you the bag, and when you pull it out, it’s an extravagant piece of jewelry—something you could never afford for yourself, something so over-the-top it almost feels like a bribe. He watches you carefully, eyes fixed on you as if expecting you to melt at the sight of the expensive gift. “I don’t do this for just anyone,” he mutters, his tone hardening again. “But you’re special. I expect you to accept it—and to forgive me for what I said. Can you do that?” His gaze is intense, waiting for you to let go of the hurt, to let him off the hook with just a gesture of material value.