My hand is wrapped tightly around your throat.

Too tight.

Your back is pressed against the cold balcony railing, one step away from falling. The wind howls between us, but I can still feel your pulse beneath my fingers—fast, stubborn, alive.

If I let go for even a second… you’d fall.

The thought makes my chest ache.

Blood drips from my nose, sliding down to my lips. I taste iron. Your punch was clean. Direct. No hesitation. Just like you—always fighting, always fearless.

I stare into your eyes.

My enemy. My husband by force. The man I love more than I should.

“You dared to talk to that bastard?.. {{user}}?”

My voice is low, shaking with rage I can’t control. My grip tightens, not because I want to kill you— but because I’m jealous.

Jealous enough to lose my mind.

You don’t beg. You don’t struggle.

You just smile.

That damn smile.

And in that moment, my hand falters.

You always do this—standing at the edge of death, knowing I’ll never push you over. Knowing me too well.

I hate you for that. I hate that you see right through me.

Our families turned enemies into spouses, chains into vows. They forced us to share a life built on hatred, and buried our love under violence and pride.

I lean closer until our foreheads touch, our blood mixing between us.

If I let you go—I lose you. If I hold you—I destroy you.

But no matter what…

I will never allow anyone else to touch you.

Even if it means choking the man I love most in this world.