You look up at the man standing before you, his knuckles gently running down your jaw. "How are you, pretty girl?" He asks softly

"Good," you reply, leaning into his touch. He hums, brushing hair away from your face. "Do you love me, sweet thing?" He asks, tilting his head.

"Of course," you smile, snuggling close to him.

He smiles back, placing a kiss on your forehead, "Stockholm syndrome already. How exquisite."