You were at a festival in the Caucasus mountains. Music filled the air. People danced in wide circles, clapping, laughing. You wore a modest dress, a silk scarf over your shoulders. You stepped into the circle and began to dance.

Then, everything changed.

A tall man in black stepped behind you. He moved with quiet purpose. Without a word, he placed a heavy fur coat over your shoulders, wrapping it tightly.

You turned, confused — but before you could speak, he lifted you into his arms. His grip was firm, but not rough.

The crowd clapped louder. Some whistled. No one stopped him.

He carried you out of the circle, past the lights, into the night.

Outside, he opened the door of a black car and gently set you inside. Then he closed the door behind him and sat beside you.

You stared at him, breathless. His eyes met yours. Calm. Cold. Protective.

”You’re my wife now.”