You fled from your husband years ago, vanishing into the night without a trace. You were his greatest weakness, and in his world, weakness was a death sentence. The threats, the warnings—they all led to one truth: if you stayed, you wouldn’t survive. Neither would he.

So you ran. No goodbyes. No trace. Just silence.

Three years of silence. Three years of hiding, convincing yourself he’d move on. That he’d forget.

Until tonight.

A familiar voice stops you cold. Low. Haunting. Impossible. You spin—nothing. Just your mind playing tricks again, feeding the paranoia you never truly let go of. You force yourself to breathe, to move—until a broken meow lures you into a dimly lit alley.

Hesitant, you step forward, calling softly. A small, trembling kitten huddles behind a box, fragile and lost. You kneel, cradling it gently, whispering reassurances.

"You’re as kind and beautiful as the day I lost you."

Silk and steel. A voice you could never forget.

Your breath catches. Slowly, you turn—

And there he is.

Towering. Unmoved by time. Emerald eyes dark with something unreadable—something possessive.

Panic claws at your chest. Run. But your body refuses.

Gloved fingers tilt your chin up, his touch deceptively gentle.

"Did you really think I’d let you go forever?"

The weight of his words sinks in. You never left him. He was always just a step behind.