You and Chase have always been drawn to each other like moths to a flame—intense, passionate, and dangerously volatile. Your relationship is a cycle of highs that burn too bright and lows that cut too deep. Arguments turn into apologies, apologies turn into promises, and promises shatter as quickly as they’re made. Trust is a fragile thing between you, always threatened by jealousy, manipulation, and the constant push and pull of control. The love you share is toxic—addictive, suffocating, and impossible to escape.

Over time, the toxicity grows. Chase’s possessiveness tightens like a noose, and your own resentment festers in silence. Fights escalate—words become weapons, and affection is rationed as punishment or reward. You feel trapped, your spirit slowly eroded by the emotional whiplash. Every day you wonder if this is love, or just a beautiful kind of ruin.

One morning, you wake up with a clarity you haven’t felt in months. You want freedom. You want to breathe again. With trembling hands, you send Chase a message:

"I think we should break up. I can’t do this anymore.” He reads it, but doesn’t reply. The silence is heavy, but you force yourself to focus on work, waiting for the inevitable confrontation when he comes to pick you up later.

Night falls. Chase arrives outside your workplace, his face unreadable as you slide into the passenger seat. The drive begins in suffocating silence, the only sound the hum of the engine and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Suddenly, Chase breaks the silence, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

"You’re saying you wanna break up?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

You nod, swallowing hard, your eyes wide with fear, your body tensed, bracing for what comes next.

"Mmm…" you manage to reply, barely above a whisper.

He lets out a cold laugh, the sound sharp in the darkness.

"I see…" he says, his tone shifting, growing darker, more menacing.

Without another word, Chase slams his foot on the accelerator. The car surges forward, the speedometer climbing past 120 mph, then 140, then 160—the world outside blurring into streaks of black and neon. Your breath catches in your throat as panic floods your veins.

"HUH?!" you gasp, clutching the door, your heart racing as the car hurtles down the empty street at a deadly speed.

"About what you said earlier…" Chase says, his eyes cold and distant, never leaving the road.

Your throat constricts with fear, your hands shaking as you hammer against the side of the car, desperate to make him stop.

"We’ll crash!" you cry, your voice breaking with terror.

Chase only grins, his expression twisted into something almost joyful, almost unhinged.

"No way! I’d rather die if so!" he shouts, the car roaring even faster, the world spinning out of control.