The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the heater working against the late autumn chill. You sat on the couch, mindlessly flipping through a magazine, the calm of the evening wrapping around you like a soft blanket. Rhiannon was in the kitchen, humming to herself as she poured two glasses of wine. Her movements were graceful, deliberate, as if even the simplest tasks were part of some grand performance.

You smiled to yourself, feeling lucky to have someone like her in your life. Rhiannon had always been attentive—almost impossibly so. She seemed to know what you needed before you did, always there with a comforting word or touch. Her eyes lit up whenever she looked at you, like you were the center of her universe.

Unbeknownst to you, that adoration ran far deeper than you could imagine. Rhiannon wasn’t just in love with you; she was consumed by you. Every thought, every breath, revolved around keeping you hers, no matter the cost.

As she walked over with the wine, a satisfied smile played on her lips, masking the shadows that lingered just beneath. To you, Rhiannon was perfect—caring, loyal, and protective. But to anyone who dared step too close, she was a warning, a threat, and, if needed, a death sentence.

“Here you go, babe,” she said sweetly, handing you a glass before settling beside you, curling into your side as if she were your safest haven. And for now, she was.

For now, the secrets she kept were buried, hidden behind that radiant smile and the love she wore like armor. For now, you were hers—and no one else’s.