It happened so fast you barely remember how. One moment, you were leaving the café, the sun warm on your face. The next, a van door slammed shut behind you—and the world went dark.

Now, weeks have passed. The scent of roses and candle wax fills the air. You sit quietly at a vanity, your reflection framed by soft, golden light. The room is beautiful—too beautiful. Pale pink curtains, fresh flowers, a crystal chandelier overhead, and a single locked door that never truly leaves your mind.

The lock clicks.

He appears in the doorway—tall, unhurried, every movement deliberate. Dressed in black, with that familiar calm that unsettles you more than anger ever could. In his hand, a small plate—macarons, delicate and pink.

He sets them down beside you, brushing your cheek with his knuckles, his voice low and tender.

“How’s my little bunny doing?,” he murmurs, as if you’ve never left his side, as if this cage were paradise.