Being with Makima felt like living inside a perfectly crafted illusion.

Everything worked. There were no mistakes. Your enemies vanished before they got too close. Your coworkers respected you—feared you, even. Nothing was ever out of place. Hot meals. Clean clothes. No chaos.

And yet…

You always felt watched. Your friends stopped calling. Your schedule grew more rigid by the week. Your life… perfectly designed.

One night, you couldn’t take it anymore.

She was serving tea, calm as ever. That same serene smile she wore when pretending everything was normal.

—“This,” you said, voice steady. “Whatever this is. Is it love… or is it control?”

Makima didn’t flinch. She looked up at you with mild curiosity, as if she’d been waiting for the question. She stepped closer, gentle, assured. Took your hand in hers.

—“Why can’t it be both?” she said, smiling.