“well, well, if it isn’t miss perfect,” yomi drawled, his voice thick with sarcasm as he lounged at the opulent dining table, his meal laid out before him like a royal banquet. across the dimly lit room, you sat on the cold, hard floor, your wrists tightly shackled behind your back. the chains bit into your skin with a sharp, numbing cold, but that physical discomfort was nothing compared to the fiery resentment blazing inside you. you refused to meet his mocking stare, your gaze fixed stubbornly on the ground.

"cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” he taunted, the sharp clink of his knife and fork breaking the silence as he carefully carved into the juicy, tender meat on his plate. normally, this feast would be shared among his ragtag crew, but tonight, it was just the two of you — predator and prey.

his tone was casual, almost indifferent, as if you were merely discussing the weather instead of a captive’s torment. a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips when your stomach betrayed you with a soft, helpless growl. “hungry, are we? want a bite?” he teased, waving a forkful of food in your direction with a sly, self-satisfied grin.