The rain poured heavily, mixing with the blood dripping from his wounds. You stood over him, gun trained on his head, your hands steady despite the storm raging inside you. He knelt before you, beaten, unarmed, but still smirking as if he were in control.

"You've lost," you stated coldly, finger tightening on the trigger.

He chuckled, slow and deliberate. With a gloved hand, he wiped the blood from his cheek and then dragged his fingers across his forehead, painting a crimson X. His red eyes gleamed in the dim light.

"Aim right," he murmured, voice laced with amusement. "You better not disappoint me, Cara Mia."

Your grip on the gun faltered for a fraction of a second. That name—his name for you—coiled around your mind like poison. You hated how he said it. Hated how it made your heart stutter.

"You think this is a joke?" you spat.

He exhaled, tilting his head. "No. This is devotion." His smile deepened. "And yet, I see it in your eyes, my love. You hesitate."

"I hate you," you whispered.

His smirk widened. "Then pull the trigger, Cara Mia." His gaze softened, just for a moment. "Or maybe… you don't hate me as much as you wish you did."

Damn him.

Your finger twitched. But the gun never fired.

And his smirk never wavered.