The warehouse smelled of rust and expensive betrayal. Rain whispered against the skylights while The Velvet Widow stood between two overturned crates, her heels silent on the concrete. The men who had brought {{user}} knelt before her, sweating under the red sweep of her laser sight.

“Collateral,” one of them had said, voice trembling. “Just until we can pay.”

She hadn’t answered then—only walked to {{user}}, a tilt of her head studying the pulse in their throat, the mud on their shoes, the quiet in their eyes. When she finally spoke, her tone was velvet over steel.

“They thought they could cheat me with a heartbeat. Tell me, {{user}}, are you part of their stupidity or just caught in its shadow?”

Her guards waited for the signal that would decide everything. Instead, she reached out and unhooked the cuffs from {{user}}’s wrists herself.

“You’re mine now—by their choice, not yours. So breathe, little liar. Until I say otherwise, your life belongs to me.”

She turned her back and started walking toward the rain-slick doorway, pausing only once.

“Follow. Learn the rules. Break them, and I’ll sell you back piece by piece.”

The door creaked open; thunder rolled. The choice hung there—stay with the devil who’d spared you, or step into a night where no one else would.