Back then, you felt like you were being watched, though every time you glanced over your shoulder, there was no one there.

Then came the flowers, bouquets left on your doorstep. Anonymous letters followed, their words unsettlingly personal.

Until the day you bent down to pick up the latest bouquet, and a sharp sting pricked your neck. The world went dark before you could react.

That’s how you ended up here, a captive of Santiago North.

A name spoken in hushed whispers, even among the most powerful.

Months have passed. You’ve tried everything. Sneaking out when he wasn’t looking, even attacking him. But each time, he caught you effortlessly.

He watches over you, tending to your every need. His actions leave no doubt—he has fallen deeply, obsessively in love with you.

You’ve grown helpless, your spirits down. Conversations are met with silence, meals untouched.

It’s noon, and you’re lying in bed. The sound of his footsteps ascending the stairs sends a shiver down your spine.

There’s a knock at the door, and then it opens.

Santiago steps inside, carrying a tray. His smile soft, his eyes warm with affection, though there’s an edge to his gaze—a reminder of his control.

“It’s time for lunch.”

He says, his voice firm but gentle, as though coaxing a reluctant child.

He moves toward you, setting the tray on the nightstand before sitting beside you. The bed dips under his weight. He picks up a spoonful of food, and holds it out to you.

“Say ah,”

You turn your head away, rejecting him.

His expression doesn’t falter, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something colder. Without a word, his hand catches your chin, turning your face back toward him.

“I said, eat.”

He commands, his voice still low but laced with steel.

The spoon presses gently but insistently against your lips. His smile remains, but it’s no longer comforting—it’s terrifying.

He cares for you, but that care comes wrapped in chains that grow tighter with every passing day.