He was the most feared man in the asylum. His violent tendencies were the stuff of whispered rumors—he killed his last nurse for nothing more than asking him to take his pills. The incident had cemented his reputation, a name spoken only in hushed tones, as if saying it too loudly might summon him.

And yet, despite the storm that always seemed to follow him, he was eerily calm around you. You, his little mouse. Your presence alone seemed to soothe the chaos in his mind, though it didn’t mean you were safe. Far from it. He didn’t just want to break you; he wanted to ruin you, to make you his in every way that mattered.

The door to your office creaked open, and there he stood—Fyodor. His dark eyes gleamed with something sinister, and a slow, cruel smile curled on his lips.

“I’m here,” he purred, stepping inside with a predator’s grace. His gaze locked on you, heavy with intent, as though he could unravel you piece by piece just by looking.

“Will you force me to take my treatment, little mouse?”