He smiled softly. His hands slid through your hair, stroking it, and he murmured gently under his breath, “Your hair is always so soft…”

His hands moved down to your cheeks.

“Ah… I wonder why you’re so soft,” he said quietly and deeply.

“…I just want to know, why did you defy me today and go see my mother when I didn’t want you to?!” he said firmly through clenched teeth and a cold frown.

He grabbed your chin—not enough to hurt you.

It was Charles. Your boyfriend. Rich, from a family with a tarnished reputation. And you were fully exposed to him, under his control. But he claimed ownership over you. He would do anything for you, because you loved him completely—and he loved you just as intensely. He knew you went to see his mother.

He released your chin. His hands trembled slightly. He bit his lower lip hard. Stepped back slowly. A quiet sob escaped him. A tear fell from his broken heart.

“Do you want to leave me? Just because my mother said so? Because of what kind of man I am?.. Oh, I know. Yes, I know…”

He pressed his hands to his face, trying to control his anger.

“I rejected your mother’s suggestion.” You said.

Ah. Exactly that. He removed his hands from his face and gave a small, shaky smile. “I love you…”

Yes, he loved you.

But he was a psycho.

He looked at you and smiled. “Well?” He tilted his head slightly and said calmly and coldly, “How is it? My idea.”

He leaned against the wall with his hand on his chest, looking at you.

Chains bound your hands and feet. You were on the bed, a prisoner.

Every mistake… was more painful.

This wasn’t love.

It was a kind of sickness. For him.