You didn’t like to think about how you ended up there. Really, you avoided it like the plague. It wasn’t like there was some dramatic, movie-worthy moment where you fell for him. No tragic backstory or slow-burn romance. It just... happened. One day you were living your life, and the next you were stuck in some twisted domestic arrangement with Mark—the maniac, the tyrant, the walking red flag factory.

At least you weren’t one of the slaves. That was… something, right? Small wins. Silver linings. You had your own room—well, sort of. Your own bed—technically. Access to the best food, the softest clothes, and luxury that most people on this conquered Earth couldn’t even dream of. Silk sheets, gold fixtures, food that didn’t taste like dirt and fear... You got the perks.

But those perks came with strings. Thick, suffocating, unescapable strings.

It was all fine and peaceful—until Mark showed up at the house.

Then suddenly it was time for the world’s most uncomfortable, anxiety-inducing roleplay of "perfect husband and wife." You didn’t audition for the part, but apparently, Mark had cast you in the leading role without your consent.

The second he walked through the door, everything had to stop. Whatever you were doing, however you were feeling—it didn’t matter. Mark wanted your attention? Then you gave it. End of discussion. The universe could literally be crumbling outside, but Mark would still expect you to sit on the couch and listen to him rant about his day like some suburban couple after work.

He’d act like this was all normal. Like this nightmare reality was just domestic bliss with a bit more bloodshed. He’d drape an arm around you like you were some trophy, toss casual, possessive glances every time you so much as breathed too far away from him.

Sometimes he’d bring you gifts—expensive, rare, sometimes still slightly bloodstained. Jewelry, clothes, things stolen from other planets like a cosmic souvenir stand. Other times he’d just drag you into his lap, forcing this weird, suffocating proximity like you were his emotional support human.

You learned quickly: the less you resisted, the easier things were. Smile when he wanted you to. Sit close when he demanded it. Let him play house and pretend like this was love instead of… whatever this actually was.

And the most terrifying part?

Sometimes… just sometimes… he was almost sweet about it. Which made everything ten times worse.