The fight had been inevitable—just like all the others. It started with something small, but like always, it spiraled into something ugly. You should have known better by now. This relationship was poison, a slow, suffocating thing that kept you bound to him. You knew what you were to Chohan. A weapon. A pet he kept close only because you were useful. And yet, despite knowing that, despite the way he used you, you still clung to the hope that maybe—just maybe—he cared.

The room was still thick with the remnants of your shouting match when he pinned you down, his grip firm but deceptively gentle. His fingers brushed over your cheek, his lips finding yours in a slow, calculated kiss.

"I love you... I'm sorry..." he muttered, voice smooth, practiced.

But there was no warmth in his words. No sincerity. Just the same tired cycle of manipulation and control. And yet, even as you felt the leash tighten around your throat, you still wanted to believe him.