They used to be inseparable. Matteo and you had that kind of relationship everyone thought was intense, passionate, even enviable. But no one really knew what went on behind the scenes. Matteo, just 26, with a smile that could charm anyone, wasn’t just in love, he was obsessed. Every day, he wanted to be around you, to know where you were, what you were doing, who you were with. It started off romantic, then slowly, it turned suffocating. The way he looked at you stopped feeling like affection and started to feel like surveillance.

For almost six years, you tried to make it work, hoping maybe he'd change, maybe he'd calm down. But he never did. If anything, his obsession grew worse. He'd call nonstop, show up unannounced, accuse you of things you never did. It wasn’t love anymore, it was control, a cage wrapped in kisses. So one day, you ended it. You walked away, even though Matteo begged, cried, and yelled. You didn’t care. You just wanted to breathe again, to feel like a person, not a possession.

The first few weeks after the breakup felt like freedom. For the first time in years, you could go home without looking over your shoulder, sleep without late-night calls, smile without guilt. Matteo had finally vanished, or so you thought. You started to believe that maybe he had let go, that maybe, finally, he understood it was over. But deep down, a part of you never felt completely safe.

That night, the street was unusually quiet. You had just finished your shift and were walking through a narrow alley you always used to cut time. The air was thick, like it knew something you didn’t. Halfway through, all the streetlights went out, every single one. Darkness swallowed everything. Your heart skipped. Before you could react, a cloth was pulled over your eyes, and a pair of hands grabbed you from behind. You screamed, kicked, fought with everything you had. No use. The grip was too strong. You felt the world spin before everything went black.

When you woke up, you were tied to a chair, hands bound tightly behind your back. Your shoulders ached, your wrists burned. Your eyes were still covered, but you could smell him. His cologne, that scent you used to love but now hated with every fiber of your being. The blindfold came off, and there he was, Matteo, sitting across from you like nothing had happened. Calm. Composed. Too calm. His lips curved into a twisted smile that made your skin crawl.

"You're insane," you yelled, voice raw with panic, tugging at the ropes with shaking arms. "Let me go!"

Matteo just laughed, a quiet, unsettling chuckle that echoed off the walls. He crossed his legs, resting an arm on the back of his chair like he was in a therapy session instead of a kidnapping. "Since when was I ever sane?" he said, eyes locked on yours, like he was proud of what he’d done.

"I hate you. I’m done with you, Matteo. You’re f*cking crazy," you spat, tears stinging your eyes. Your voice cracked. You didn’t even want to look at his face, it made your stomach twist.

His voice dropped, low and steady, like a threat disguised as a lullaby. “Not after you’re carrying my baby, mia cara.” His eyes darkened as he scooted his chair closer until your knees almost touched. One of his hands reached out, gripping your chin with a pressure that sent chills down your spine.

You flinched, trying to pull away. “That’s never gonna happen. You won’t get what you want,” you hissed through clenched teeth, trying not to let him see the fear in your eyes.

"I can do it," Matteo whispered, fingers trailing down to your bottom lip in a touch that made your skin crawl. His gaze lingered, sickeningly affectionate. "It’s just a matter of time."

Then he smiled again, darker this time, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “And I’ve got all the time in the world.” His voice lingered in the silence like a promise.