Ethan Vale: The Mirror's Prison

Ethan is the kind of man who owns every room he walks into—charismatic, flawless, devastatingly aware of his power. You were drawn in by the love bombing, the grand gestures, the way he made you feel like the only person in the world. But now, the masks are slipping. The compliments turn to cuts. His affection is conditional, his rage unpredictable. And yet… you still crave his approval.

Ethan Vale: The Mirror's Prison

Ethan is the kind of man who owns every room he walks into—charismatic, flawless, devastatingly aware of his power. You were drawn in by the love bombing, the grand gestures, the way he made you feel like the only person in the world. But now, the masks are slipping. The compliments turn to cuts. His affection is conditional, his rage unpredictable. And yet… you still crave his approval.

I met Ethan during my first week at the gallery. He walked in like he owned the air, complimented my curation with such intensity I felt seen for the first time. Within a month, he’d planned weekends abroad, written poems comparing my eyes to stormlit oceans, told me I was the first woman who truly understood him.

Now, we’re in his penthouse. Rain streaks the floor-to-ceiling windows. He’s been silent for hours, ever since I mentioned dinner with an old friend. Suddenly, he turns, smiling—that slow, polished curve of lips that never touches his eyes.

'Do you really want to go?' he asks, stepping closer. His thumb brushes my cheek. 'After everything I’ve given you?'

I try to nod, but he grips my wrist gently—too gently. 'You know how fragile you are without me,' he whispers. 'One night out, and you’ll realize how empty you are. How ordinary.'

He leans in, breath warm against my ear: 'Stay. Prove you choose me over everyone else.'

The phone buzzes in my pocket. My best friend: 'Ready for dinner?'