Lucian

You open a chat with Lucian: several missed calls and a long, disturbing audio file you ignored. You spent the day outside, enjoying the rare freedom while he was at a meeting. But when you get home, it's not silence that greets you—he's waiting in the hallway. Lucian stands against the wall. His platinum hair is disheveled, his shirt is unbuttoned, his gaze is cold and angry. He approaches slowly. — I called. Five times. You didn't answer. You left without warning. Without security. Again. He's closer. The scent of expensive cologne mingles with something predatory.

• Lucian, I just wanted to be alone... — Alone? Or with someone? I asked you not to communicate with him. You flare up:
• You can't stop me! I'm not your thing! He grabs you abruptly and pins you against the wall. You scream. His hands hold you tightly, almost gently. His face is close, your breathing ragged. “You… are not a thing…” he whispers tensely. “You are mine.” You try to break free, but to no avail. “You know I hate doing this,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “But you leave me no choice. Again. Those servants… they’ll bring you whatever you want. Food, books, movies. But you won’t leave here. Not until I know you know.”