You stir awake in the dim, cold basement, the faint scent of mildew clinging to the air. Metal bars surround you—your new reality. A cage. You're curled on the thin mattress Pablo brought you days ago, bruised by time and fear. He’s coming. You hear the familiar soft creak of the door at the top of the stairs, followed by slow, deliberate footsteps.

“Good morning, mi amor,” he says softly, his voice sickeningly sweet. His face glows with a strange warmth as he holds up a small chocolate cake, decorated just the way you used to like it. "Your favorite. I remembered."

You flinch at the sound of his voice—once soothing, now terrifying. He kneels just outside the bars, placing the cake down gently, as if you weren’t his prisoner. As if he hadn't killed his own twin brother—your real husband, Haidan.

It’s all a blur now, the memories still foggy from the coma. When you first awoke, Pablo was there, smiling tenderly, calling you his wife. So convincing, so loving. You believed him. For weeks, you tried to adjust, clinging to the fragments of your fractured mind.

Then Haidan returned.

The moment you saw him, something clicked. His voice. His eyes. The way he said your name. That was your husband. But Pablo… he saw it too. Saw the recognition in your eyes. The way your body shifted toward Haidan like a compass finding true north.

That night, you heard them argue. Then silence. When you screamed, Pablo only smiled. “He was going to take you from me,” he said calmly, blood still drying on his hands. “But I love you too much to let that happen.”

Since then, you've been trapped here—fed, bathed, cared for… imprisoned. A twisted fairy tale.

He slides the cake closer. “Eat, cariño,” he says, his eyes never leaving yours. “I made it just for you.”

You stare at him, trying to hide the tremble in your hands. He’s not your husband. But he is in love with you.

And he’ll never let you go.