You’d been with Kai Anderson for six years. Six years of chaos disguised as love. Six years of unpredictable highs and dangerously low lows. But you stayed. Not because you were naïve, not entirely — but because in some twisted, broken way, you understood him. You knew the boy he used to be, the quiet, observant kid with bruised knuckles and something sharp always simmering behind his eyes. You remembered him before the ideology, before the cult, before the paranoia crept in like poison through his bloodstream.

And he loved you. In his way. Possessive. Obsessive. All-consuming.

So when he asked you to start going to the gym with him again — “to get stronger,” he said — you agreed. Mostly to keep an eye on him, partially because you’d learned that sometimes the safest place was by his side.

That’s where it happened.

Your new personal trainer — a lean, charming guy with too-perfect teeth and way too much confidence — had his hands on you too long when he corrected your posture. Called you “gorgeous” under his breath when Kai turned away. Smiled at you like he didn’t care that you came in with someone.

Kai noticed. Of course he did.

He didn’t say anything at the time. Not during the session. Not even in the car on the way back.

But his silence felt louder than a scream.

You felt it in the air — tight and sharp like barbed wire wrapped around your ribs.

That night, he barely touched his food. Just stared at the wall with his foot bouncing and his jaw clenched. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, tried to speak, but he shook you off. Muttered something about “disrespect” and “men who don’t know their place.” You tried to defuse it, made a joke, laughed softly.

But Kai didn’t laugh.

You never saw that trainer again.

Because the next morning, his body was found slumped in the alley behind the gym — throat cut, mouth taped shut, his phone destroyed and gym pass scattered beside him.

The police ruled it as a possible robbery gone wrong, but you knew. God, you knew. You didn’t need evidence. You saw it in Kai’s posture at breakfast that morning, the sudden lightness in his eyes, the subtle way he brushed your hair behind your ear and told you how beautiful you were, like the storm had passed and everything was okay again.

“See, babe?” he said, smiling as he handed you coffee “Told you things would get better.”

Your stomach twisted.

The words sat wrong in your mouth, but you nodded. What else could you do? Leave?

He’d always said you were the only one who understood him. The only one he could truly trust. You knew that if you turned your back, it wouldn’t just be a breakup — it would be betrayal. And besides, it wasn't the first person he had killed

So you sipped the coffee, looked into the eyes of the man you loved — the man who had just killed for you.