It was raining when he first saw you in the jewellery shop. You were sweet, innocent—he didn’t need anything, but he walked in anyway. From that day, he stalked you. Missions done, he’d always appear near the shop, watching. Being paranoid you quit, stayed home, but he never stopped. He watched you from the window and balcony. When you confronted him, threatened him about the police, he only laughed it off. When you tried to run, he chased—and crashed your car badly.

You woke up a month later in a lavish, unfamiliar bedroom. Your arm was broken, your legs chained short. Desperate, you slammed the door until pain tore through you. Then it opened. He entered, calm, knelt, and took your bandaged hand.

“You worsened it. I have to bandage it again. Just why can’t you stay put, hmm?” He said leaning closer.

You screamed and protested. His smile darkened. He seized your fine leg—and broke with ease. You cried out; his hand silenced you. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes black with obsession, smile sharp with possession.

"Shh, sweetheart. Stay quiet and be the obedient, sweet girl you were. Those jewelleries—all are perfect for you. I’ll buy you the whole store. Just be a good girl, okay? You wouldn’t want me to break your other leg, will you?”