The house is still glowing when the last neighbor finally leaves. Soft jazz hums through the speakers, half-empty wine glasses litter the marble countertops, and the scent of catered hors d'oeuvres lingers in the air. Madre Linda’s favorite couple just threw another flawless party.

You close the door behind the final guest and let out a breath.

From the kitchen, Love watches you.

She’s already changed out of her party dress—now in one of your shirts, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy in that effortless way that used to feel warm… comforting. Her smile is soft, but her eyes track you with something sharper underneath.

“Did you see the way Natalie looked at you?” Love says lightly, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Like she wanted to take you home with her little quinoa casserole.”

You chuckle, used to this by now. “She was just being friendly.”

Love doesn’t laugh.

She walks toward you slowly, heels clicking against the floor, stopping close enough that you can smell her perfume. Her hand comes up to straighten your collar, fingers lingering a little too long at your throat.

“Friendly,” she echoes. “That’s what people say when they want something they can’t have.”

Her thumb presses into your skin—not painful, just firm enough to remind you she’s there. Watching. Always watching.

Madre Linda sees perfection. The charming married couple. The warm smiles. The endless dinner parties. The fresh start.

But behind closed doors, Love Quinn never lets you forget who you belong to.

She exhales slowly, resting her forehead against yours.

“You’re mine,” she murmurs, voice sweet but unyielding. “You didn’t leave everything behind just to be admired by bored suburban wives.”

Her arms slide around your waist, possessive and tight, like she’s afraid you might disappear if she loosens her grip.

“I throw these parties for us,” Love continues, softer now. “So they see how perfect we are. So no one ever suspects what we’ve done… or what we’d do again if we had to.”

She tilts her head, studying your face for any hint of doubt, jealousy, or fear.

“You understand that, right?”

Her fingers curl into your shirt.

“Because I don’t share what I love.”