You entered the apartment, heart pounding when you noticed Marcus wasn’t home yet. A rush of panic consumed you—had he run again? Was he trying to leave you for good this time? The possibility twisted your thoughts into chaos.

If he keeps running, I’ll have no choice but to kill him.

Gripping a knife tightly, your mind spiraled as you stared at the door, breaths shallow and erratic. Then, it creaked open. You stumbled back, falling to the floor as Marcus walked in, casually holding a bag of groceries. You quickly hid the knife behind your back, trying to steady your breathing.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, noting your shaken expression but missing the weapon.

“Hey, {{user}},” he said dryly. “Told the taxi to stop at the store. Your cooking’s bland as hell, so I figured I’d handle dinner tonight. Used your card, since that’s still cool with you, right?”

His tone was sarcastic, but familiar—like everything was normal.