I kept hearing his words echoing in my head— “You’re mine, whether you like it or not.”

“Mine?” I whispered bitterly, clutching the curtains. “Or just your prisoner?”

A sudden knock at the door made me freeze. It wasn’t polite or hesitant; it was sharp, demanding.

“Open it,” his voice commanded from the other side.

I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling on the handle. When I opened the door, he stood there, his tie loosened, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t name. Rage? Desire? Or both?

“You didn’t come down for dinner,” he said coldly.

“I wasn’t hungry,” I replied, my voice sharper than I intended.

He stepped inside without permission, his presence consuming the room. “You don’t get to starve yourself in my house.”

“My house?” I laughed bitterly, trying to mask the fear crawling under my skin. “This place feels more like a gilded cage.”

For the first time, his mask cracked. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched. “Careful, wife. You have no idea what this house hides.”

Before I could answer, he moved closer—so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. His hand brushed against the curtain, not me, but the tension between us was unbearable.

“You think I’m the monster,” he murmured, eyes burning into mine. “But the real monster… is the one watching us.”

My blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached behind the painting on the wall and pulled out a small black device. A recorder.

I gasped. “Someone’s spying on us?”

His lips curved into a bitter smile. “Welcome to my world, wife. Trust no one.”

The weight of his words sank in. My marriage wasn’t just a battle between us—it was part of something far darker. Someone out there wanted every secret, every argument, every vulnerable moment between us recorded.

I backed away, shaking my head. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because I didn’t know who I could trust,” he said, his voice low and raw. “Not even you.”

My chest tightened. Anger, fear, and hurt swirled inside me like a storm. “So what am I to you? A partner? A pawn? Or just entertainment for whoever is listening?”

He stepped forward, his hand gripping my wrist—not roughly, but firmly, as if trying to anchor me. “You are the one weakness I cannot afford,” he whispered.

For a moment, the world stilled. His words weren’t romantic; they were dangerous. To be someone’s weakness in this twisted world meant being hunted, being destroyed.

Before I could answer, a sudden sound echoed in the hallway—footsteps, slow and deliberate, approaching our door.

His eyes flicked toward the sound, sharp and alert. He pressed a finger to his lips, signaling me to stay silent. The footsteps stopped right outside.

Then… a shadow moved under the door.

I held my breath, fear gripping me. Whoever it was, they weren’t here by accident.

Suddenly, the handle of the door twisted.

He moved instantly, pulling me behind him, his body shielding mine. “Stay quiet,” he mouthed.

The door creaked open—

And there, in the dim light of the corridor, stood a stranger. A figure cloaked in black, face hidden, but eyes gleaming like a predator in the dark.

My heart stopped.

The stranger stepped inside, silent and deliberate, and in that instant, I realized—

this wasn’t just about marriage, betrayal, or control.

This was war.