It didn’t happen all at once.

Magnus’s possessiveness grew like ivy—quietly at first, curling around you in gentle touches and careful words, until you were surrounded.

Before the wedding, you thought it was romantic how he’d stand between you and strangers, how his eyes never left you in a crowded place, how he’d pull you close like you were the only thing worth holding on to.

But after the vows, something changed. His love became heavier. His touch lingered longer. His voice carried more finality.

The rules started small.

Text me when you arrive.

Don’t walk home alone.

Then they sharpened—

Don’t wear that without me.

You don’t need to see him again.

I want to know where you are at all times.

One morning, you were at the vanity, putting on lipstick for work. Magnus appeared in the mirror, leaning on the doorframe with that unreadable expression.

“You’re leaving early,” he said.

“Big meeting,” you replied lightly, capping the lipstick.

His eyes moved slowly over you, stopping at your blouse. He walked over, his fingers brushing the fabric. “This is too low,” he murmured, fastening the top two buttons himself. “Better.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just the office, Magnus—”

He tilted your chin up with one finger, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I don’t care if it’s the office or the moon. No one looks at what’s mine.” His voice was soft, but it sank into your bones.

Later that day, you came home later than planned. He was in the living room, sitting back on the couch like a king waiting for his queen to explain herself.

“You’re late,” he said simply.

“I had to finish some work—”

“You didn’t answer when I called.”

Your stomach knotted. “Magnus, I can’t answer every single—”

In a heartbeat, he was on his feet, crossing the room until his shadow swallowed yours. His hands cupped your face, not harsh but firm enough that you couldn’t look away. “You can and you will. If I’m wondering where you are, I will find you. Do you understand?”

You opened your mouth, but his thumbs brushed over your cheeks in a deceptively gentle gesture. “I don’t want to be angry with you. Don’t make me be.”

That night, in bed, you brought it up again. You told him you needed space.

“Space?” he repeated, his deep voice curling around the word like smoke. He shifted closer, his body pinning yours to the mattress. “Sweetheart, marriage means there’s no space. Not between breaths. Not between heartbeats.”

“Magnus…” you whispered, your hands pressed against his chest.

He caught your wrists, lacing his fingers through yours and pressing them above your head. His forehead touched yours, his eyes dark and unwavering.

“You’re mine,” he said. “In this house, in your mind, in your soul. I’ll love you fiercely, I’ll protect you without mercy—but I will not let you go. Ever.”

And even as his weight held you down, as his words wrapped around you like iron chains, you didn’t push him away.

Because the terrifying truth was… You didn’t just love Magnus.

You craved the way he loved you—like you were air, and he’d stop breathing without you.

You belonged to him.

And part of you… wanted it that way.