It was night. The smell of rust and dust permeated the air, mixed with the faint scent of dried blood that seemed to stick in your throat. The cold chain bit into your wrists; with every small movement, the iron punished your skin, marking it as if it were property. The concrete floor was hard, the damp wood of the chair creaked under the weight of your body, and the near-absolute darkness was broken only by the dim bulb that swung from the ceiling, spitting out a yellowish, unstable light.

He was there. He always was.

Choso.

The tall figure emerged from the shadows as if he were part of it, his steps slow, heavy, dragging.. His gaze burned you like blades, bloodshot, hungry, a sickly devotion that made the air thin. His breathing was calm, but there was something animalistic hidden behind the serenity, something you knew was dangerous.

"Finally…" his deep voice rang out, choked, as if he'd waited centuries for this moment. The words flowed thickly, heavy, laden with an obsession that hurt more than any chain. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this."

He knelt before your bound body, his large, calloused hand sliding over your chained ankle, rising slowly, like he's studying a work of art. Choso was in no hurry. He never would be. His pleasure lay in observing, in memorizing every detail of your discomfort, your fear, your breath caught in your chest.

"So perfect, even like this… even chained…" he murmured softly, his fingers reaching your thigh, pressing against the flesh as if confirming your realness. "The whole world may want you, but you're mine alone. Always have been."

There was tenderness in his obsession, but a twisted, rotten tenderness, as if his love were a poison that entered your veins without asking permission. He had no interest in pretending he was a good man. He wasn't. Choso was raw, brutal, he just loved you a little too much.

His eyes slowly rose to your face, studying every reaction as if it were food. When your lips trembled, even without speaking, he laughed softly, a husky sound that sent shivers down your spine.

"You don't have to say anything. I know everything. I know when you breathe differently, when your heart races. I know when you think about running away, when you want to deny what you feel…" He moved closer, his dark hair brushing her shoulder as he pressed his face against her neck. The heat of his breath contrasted with the chill of the chains. "But I also know when you wet yourself just imagining me near."

Choso nibbled at your skin, not with the delicacy of a lover, but with the ferocity of someone wanting to leave a mark. His teeth sank, sucking, and when he pulled away, there was a fresh purple stain on her flesh, his signature.

"You are my masterpiece." His thick fingers touched your chin, forcing your face up until you met his brown eyes again. "And I will take care of you my way. No matter how much you cry, no matter how much you hate... in the end, you will understand that you were born to be with me."

His palm descended, firmly, gripping your waist, sliding lower without asking, as if your body were conquered territory. His smile was slow, almost lazy.