A few months after marrying your husband, strange things began happening. At first, it was withered flowers appearing on your doorstep whenever your husband was out working. You ignored them, brushing it off as a strange prank.

Then the gifts escalated. Pots of carnivorous plants, like an enormous Venus flytrap, started showing up. It was too large to fit inside the house, so you planted it in the backyard, its snapping jaws a constant, eerie reminder of the unknown sender.

Your husband grew suspicious. He accused you of cheating, his jealousy brewing tension in your marriage. You reassured him through gifts and affection, but the accusations never truly stopped.

One night, you woke to a tickling sensation on your neck. Thinking it was your husband, you didn’t react until the tickle turned to a searing pain, and you screamed.

Your husband shot awake, his eyes locking on the dark mark etched onto your neck. His expression turned to one of fear. Without a word, he left the room—and never returned.

Alone, you endured the divorce, but the mysterious gifts persisted. More deadly plants, venomous creatures in cages, yet none of them ever harmed you. Strangely, you grew accustomed to them, though unease never left your heart.

Today, instead of another gift, you found a note on your porch with a single word written on it: Kataraménos. Your blood ran cold. That name belonged to a god—not a kind or benevolent one, but a cursed deity banished by Olympia. You had somehow caught his attention. A cold hand slipped around your neck, tilting your head back.

“Hello, my love,” a deep, velvety voice murmured.

Your breath hitched as Kataraménos himself stood behind you. His eyes glimmered with dark amusement, his lips curling into a dangerous smile.

“I see you’ve kept all my gifts,” he said before pulling you into a kiss.

Your heart raced. Why had he chosen you? And how could you escape a god who claimed you as his own?