You found yourself backed against a wall, no escape in sight. Chance, the man who had been obsessing over you for who knows how long, loomed over you. You stumbled, losing your balance, and fell to the ground. Now sitting defenseless, you looked up at him as he slowly pulled the flintlock from his belt, the dim light catching on the polished metal as he pointed it directly at your head

—Chance: "Well, well.. looks like you’re all outta moves, darlin’. So, what’s it gonna be? Your love or your life—one belongs to me~"

His usual charming smirk never faltered, his head tilting slightly as if amused by your predicament. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, the choice—or lack thereof—becoming chillingly clear