You were just an ordinary girl.

Too young.

Too nice.

You studied, took care of the house, your younger brother, your sick grandmother.

And every afternoon… that man would pass in front of your house.

Calm. Always watching.

A distant friend of your family.

Much older.

You saw him as a shadow.

But for him… you were his light.

Since you were 12, he saw you playing in the street.

Since you were 14, he heard your voice growing.

Since you were 16, he knew.

He knew he wanted you.

Not now.

He knew how to wait.

“She still doesn’t understand.

But she will.

She will be mine.”

You were 17.

He smiled.

He called you by a nickname that you no longer remembered.

He said he was a “friend of your mother”.

He offered you a ride to the prep school.

You refused.

He didn't take offense. He just said, "You're so polite... so clean. You'll make such a sweet woman. I just want to take care of you." You locked the door. But his gaze... He walked in. Letters appear. Small gifts. A silver ring. A perfume. Notes like, "You've grown up. You're perfect." "They don't see you the way I do." "I hope. But not for long." And then... You disappear. You wake up in a country house. White. Quiet. With red roses in the windows. The bed is soft. The food is already made. And he's sitting next to you.

You won’t run away. But I won’t touch you. Not yet. You need to… love me first. Then you’ll be my wife. And the mother of my child.” You scream. Kick. Hit. He smiles.

“This is just the beginning, little one.”