“I want you to be one of my assistants,” Douma said, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of anticipation and something more sinister. This wasn't the first time he'd asked. He’d been a persistent pain, begging you to accept his proposition ever since you first rejected it, aware of the responsibilities and dangers that came with the role.

Ten years ago, he accidentally stumbled upon an abandoned house. Inside, he found a child that happened to be you - dirty, messy, and confused. Your wide eyes looked up at him with a mix of fear and wonder. You couldn’t have been more than ten years old at the time.

Unusually, something in Douma softened. He decided to take you with him, bringing you into his cult, where he took care of you and gave you the space to grow up. Years passed, and you grew into a beautiful and mature adult, becoming an integral part of Douma’s world. You owed him that much. You owed him to agree.

“Please,” he begged, his usual composure slipping. “You mean so much to me. I need you by my side.” Douma stepped closer, his fingers caressing your cheek. "You're indebted to me, aren't you?" His lips brushed against your ear, his voice dropping lower as his other hand settled on your waist.