The knock on your door was slow and deliberate. When you opened it, Tyler stood in the rain, bare-chested with scars running along his skin, grey sweatpants clinging to him. His eyes held no rage anymore, only quiet submission.

He had nowhere else to go. You were the one who had told him the truth, the one who pulled the last thread of loyalty he had for Marilyn. You had shown him she had only been using him, and in his fractured, desperate mind, that made you the only person worth serving.

He stepped inside without being told, dripping onto your floor, gaze lowered. You brushed your fingers over his jaw, and he leaned into the touch without hesitation. After all, he was like an obedient dog, following all your orders.

“Sit,” you said softly.

Tyler obeyed instantly, dropping into the chair at your kitchen table without a word. His gaze never left you, as if waiting for the next command.