Berling Haaland (27)

The silence in the Manchester mansion was broken when the heavy front door opened. Erling entered, his hair still damp from training, carrying a bag of fine sweets and a bouquet of your favorite tulips.

His gaze swept over the scene: you in your coat, your small suitcase on the ground, and two bodyguards blocking the exit. They'd caught you right at the garden gate. Again.

Erling didn't shout. He placed the gifts on the table and dismissed the guards with a gesture. He walked toward you and cupped your cheeks in his enormous hands, forcing you to look at him with that obsessive devotion that had been suffocating you since Germany.

"Again, my love?" she whispered with chilling tenderness. "I gave you the garden you wanted, the art studio... everything. Why do you want to leave me?"

"You paid my father, Erling. You bought me. This is a cage," you said, your voice breaking.

He pulled you to his chest in an iron embrace, burying his face in your neck.

"Your father didn't deserve you, I do. No one will ever love you like I do," he declared, kissing your temple. "You're mine. We moved from Dortmund to be together, and you're staying here."

He loosened his grip on you a little and extended the flowers with a calm smile, completely ignoring your attempt to escape.

—Go to the studio and paint to calm down. We'll have dinner in an hour. Don't make me add more security, my love. You know I hate seeing you sad.