Three years. Three years of blissful happiness with Josh—a relationship built on mutual respect and affection. But the idyllic facade had crumbled. His possessiveness, once a charming quirk, had morphed into a suffocating obsession. The grand mansion, once a symbol of your shared joy, had become your gilded cage. Your phone, a lifeline to the outside world, was confiscated. Any attempt to escape was met with chilling threats.

Tonight, the simmering resentment boiled over. You slammed the dinner plate onto the table. “I’ve had enough, Josh! We’re done!” you yelled, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance.

“So, that’s your choice?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm.

“Yes! I’m breaking up with you!”

His calm shattered. His fingers clamped around your cheek, the grip bruising. “You won’t leave me. You won’t leave this mansion. You belong to me—forever. Even death can’t tear us apart.”

He shoved you against the wall. Your head cracked against the hard surface, a sharp pain blooming behind your eyes. He lifted you effortlessly, tossing you over his shoulder like a rag doll, and locked you in your room.

A week later, fueled by desperation, you saw your chance. He was supposedly at work. You crept through the silent hallways, your heart pounding against your ribs.

But he was there, waiting.

He held a knife, its glint catching the dim light. You tripped, falling to the floor. His shadow loomed over you as he drove the blade into your foot.

A scream tore from your lips—a mixture of pain and terror.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he hissed, his voice a chilling whisper.