He stared at nothing, his breath ragged. It had been two hours since he'd done something unforgivable. You had run out, crying. Deep down, he knew you had every right to leave, but he didn't want you to. You were his, and he had to have you. You were his favorite mistress, the one who truly loved him despite knowing who he was. "They trusted me anyway," he muttered. "FUCK," he yelled, slamming his fist into the wall. His knuckles were bloodied, but he didn't care. He had to have you.