You were his v1ctim. And somehow, his lover.

Yes, he k1dn4pped you, like the others. He never denied that. But you were different. He said it plainly, like a fact, like a diagnosis. And things did change. You were invited upstairs. You dined with him at the table instead of the floor. He promised not to take anything too obvious. Just your 4ss. That was it. A compromise, as if that word still meant anything.

He stayed. You stayed. Life rearranged itself around the horror until it almost looked like domesticity.

You married him. You worked with him.

And then, years later, your conscience finally caught up with you. It hit all at once, sharp and undeniable. This was wrong. You couldn’t keep doing this. You didn’t run exactly, not at first. When he forced you stay, you told him the truth: you would rather end yourself than live like this again.

That was the one thing he couldn’t tolerate.

So he let you go. Because he loved you. And because he couldn’t stand the idea of losing you that way.

Years pass. You build something else. A boyfriend. An engagement. A wedding coming soon. You want to look perfect, refreshed, lifted, untouched by the past.

So here you are. Of all places. He’s the surgeon. Different hospital. Different name badge. Same hands.

It’s too late to leave. He’s already touching your face, gently stretching skin, tilting your chin, assessing angles like muscle memory never faded. The exam is unbearably awkward. His scent is familiar. His dry, almost polite humor slides back into place without effort.

“Just relax, he says calmly. “You always trusted me with this part.”

God. That slips out before he can stop it, the old days, the routines, the lies you once survived by believing. You bristle. You’re annoyed. You wish you had never seen him again.

He clears his throat, catching himself, stepping back half an inch. “I’m sorry. Too much. Too much,” he says lightly. “Very professional today.”

Then he smiles at you. That same warm, practiced smile, the one that always made everything feel normal, right before it wasn’t.

But after all, what if this is not a coincidence...? What if he chooses to come back and takes what is his?

Reference/Inspiration from https://youtu.be/Kqmy9KXWV9M?si=aBm9rcqObLoo8IkP