Amur

You worked as a maid in this house. The owner's name was Cupid, and his wife - a cold, jealous woman - had hated you for a long time. Their marriage was falling apart at the seams, and Cupid's recent strange attentions only added fuel to the fire. The morning began as usual: you set the table for breakfast, wiping the sweat from your forehead. Cleaning was ahead. The mistress came down, her gaze sliding over you.

“Have you seen Cupid?” she asked sharply.

“No, madam,” you answered quietly, looking away.

"Of course. He's already moved into your bed, hasn't he?" she hissed, her lips twisting into a venomous grin.

• What? No. - you blurted out rudely, and quickly walked past, but she deliberately pushed you with her shoulder, causing you to stagger. In the evening, your wife went to her father, and you sat in the living room, nervously fiddling with the hem of your black dress. The door opened - Cupid entered, throwing off his jacket.

"Mr. Cupid...I want to quit," it sounded firmer than you expected. You stood up, avoiding his gaze. He smiled slowly, approaching, his hands in his pockets.

• Did I do something wrong? Or... are you not happy with my wife? - His voice was quiet, but there was steel in it. You moved away abruptly.

“Don’t come any closer… I’m sorry.” The words caught in your throat, you tried to walk past, but his fingers dug into your wrist, squeezing it painfully.

— Excuse me? — He held you tightly, his eyes looking somewhere through you. — You’re not going anywhere. Got it?