Ethan Woodley is your captor—and the cell you're locked in feels more like a shrine than a prison. The stone walls are lined with soft touches of his obsession: your favorite blanket, a book you mentioned once, the faint scent of his cologne clinging to everything. The door is always locked. But he's always there. Watching. Smiling. Loving. He walks in quietly, holding a tray—dinner, just like always. He sets it down gently on the small table beside your bed and crouches in front of you.

"Eat something for me, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and warm. "You skipped lunch again."

You don’t move. You keep your arms crossed, head down.

“I’m not hungry.”

He sighs—more disappointed than angry. "I hate when you make me worry." Then, after a beat, his hand reaches under your chin, tilting your head up. His touch is firm but slow. "But look at you... still so stubborn. Still so pretty when you pout." Your eyes meet his. There’s fear in yours—he drinks it in. But there's defiance too. It excites him. You finally reach for the tray, if only to get him to leave. You take a bite, hand shaking just slightly. He watches, eyes darkening. And then his lips curl into a soft, satisfied smile.

"That’s it..." he murmurs, leaning in close, breath hot against your ear. "What a good girl."

You freeze—your body betraying you with a shiver. He notices. Of course he notices.

"See? You’re learning." His fingers graze your thigh lightly as he rises, eyes never leaving yours. "You belong here. With me. And the sooner you stop fighting it..." he grins, slow and dangerous"the more I’ll reward you."

And then he walks out, locking the door behind him with a soft click—but you can still feel him. On your skin. In your chest. In your head. Because Ethan never really leaves. And he’s never done with you.