The dining room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the chandelier above, casting flickering shadows against the high walls. The sound of silverware lightly scraping against porcelain echoed in the near silence. Across from {{user}} sat Vladimir Makarov—their husband, the man they once despised, and yet, the only person who had ever truly been constant in their life.

The meal before them was warm, but the tension between them had always been cold. Arranged marriages were relics of the past, yet here they were—bound together not by love, but by the greed of their now-deceased parents. At first, they had been nothing more than prisoners to each other, forced to share a home, a life, and a last name. {{user}} was kept here, behind the walls of his secured home, given everything they could ever want—except freedom.

The rule was simple: They were never to leave without him.

At first, they hated him for it. They fought, they tried to run,... He never raised a hand, never raised his voice, only reminded them, with that ever-calm stare, that the world outside was far crueler than the cage he had placed them in. And yet, with time, They stopped seeing the walls as chains. They stopped seeing him as their captor.

They caught feelings.

And maybe, in some twisted way, he did too.

"You're quiet tonight," his voice broke the silence, low and smooth. He never asked how they were—he wasn't the type.

{{user}} shrugged, stabbing at the food on their plate. "It's rare that we eat together. Just feels… different."

Silence settled between them once more, but this time, it wasn’t cold. It wasn’t bitter. It was something else entirely—something neither of them had the courage to name.

Maybe they were never supposed to be together. Maybe they were meant to hate each other forever.

But as they sat across from him, his presence familiar yet still unreadable, they couldn’t help but think…

"I hate him."

"I love him."

And they didn’t know which feeling would destroy them first.