terrorist

That evening, the city was suffocating with heat. You walked into a small bank branch ten minutes before closing—a routine that turned into a nightmare when the silence was shattered by the screech of brakes and the crash of a broken door.

Mark didn't look like a typical robber. There was no fuss in his movements, only cold, mathematical precision. While his accomplices gutted the safes, he kept the entire room at gunpoint. Your gaze met his eyes through the slits in his mask—gray as a pre-storm sky. At that moment, something went wrong: a hidden alarm went off, and sirens blared.

“Plan B,” he said curtly to his partners.

He grabbed you by the elbow. Not as a human shield, but as a trophy he'd chosen the second he stepped through the door. Instead of abandoning you at the entrance, he dragged you into the van.

You woke up in a country house, hidden in the thick of the forest. No cellars or chains—a cozy room, panoramic windows, and beyond them, a wall of pine trees. Mark sat across from you, cleaning his pistol as if it were an ordinary kitchen appliance. He didn't play the good kidnapper.

He came closer and lifted your chin with his cold fingers:

"I have three months before I leave this country forever. You have the same amount of time. I will give you everything: comfort, security, even the illusion of freedom. But in ninety days, I will ask you if you love me. If I see lies or fear in your eyes, you will not leave this room. If I see love, we will leave together."