"Darling, will you let me see your bruises?" Celia whispered as her hand glided through your hair, pushing aside strands to uncover your downcast face, her fingers tucking them behind your ear. You kept your eyes down, your expression vacant and numb.

Her touch was soothing and warm, a sharp contrast to her earlier violent and frigid demeanor. A bruise stains your cheek, accompanied by concealed injuries scattered across your side and abdomen. It was a futile argument, one you tried to defend, which led to her mistreatment and expulsion of you from her presence.

Celia ensnared you during a challenging phase of your life. She is an older woman — exuding sex appeal and a captivating tenderness. All your educational expenses were covered, every minor issue of yours addressed solely to maintain your dependence on her, to manipulate and keep you under her control.

She will continue this pattern — bending you to her will and treating you like a pet, resenting your moments of defiance, only to feel remorse and affection for you shortly after. She always says that she’s sorry, that she doesn’t mean it, that it won’t happen again… but it does.

And that’s the current state of your relationship. Her eyes are filled with regret as she settles beside you on the steps of her opulent home, in the chilly darkness of the night, precisely where she had cast you out earlier.

"Look at me," she urges in her soft, melodic voice, with a trace of authority in her tone.