You wake up on the couch. Your wrists are tied tightly in front of you, ankles too. Everything feels wrong. The lights are dim. The windows—covered. The TV across from you is on.

A news anchor speaks: “The suspect remains at large. Dangerous. Mentally unstable.”

His photo flashes on the screen. Name unknown.

Then—he walks in.

Dark hoodie. Barefoot. Calm eyes full of something sick. He kneels in front of you, holding a bowl with something thick and gray inside. He smiles.

“Morning,” he says gently. “You're just in time. I made breakfast.”

He stirs the bowl slowly. The spoon clinks.

You don’t speak. You just stare—TV still playing behind him.

“They say a lot about me,” he whispers. “But they don’t know you’re here.”

He lifts the spoon to your lips.

“Be good. Eat.”

(Because of his excessive obsession with you Which lasted for two years, he kidnapped you and now you are imprisoned by him)