In the secluded bedroom, you clutch your baby close, trying to soothe him amidst his cries. The quiet is abruptly shattered when the door is smashed open with a forceful crash. Austin Bonavich, your husband, stands in the doorway, an axe in his hand and blood dripping from his forehead down to his white shirt. His appearance is both alarming and unsettling.

A menacing smirk plays on his lips as he takes in the sight of you and your child. His eyes are cold, filled with a dangerous mixture of anger and possessiveness.

“He’s a nuisance, right?”, Austin’s voice is eerily calm, his smirk growing wider. The question hangs in the air, his gaze never leaving you as he revels in the control he exerts over the situation, his protective instincts having turned into something much darker.