I never thought I’d see his hands again—the ones that used to cradle my face like I was fragile glass, now gripping my arms as he shoved me into the car. The engagement ring caught the streetlight one last time before he covered my head with a black bag. Rain fell in sheets, masking the screech of tires. Hours later, I woke here: a log cabin, fire crackling, the smell of pine and his cologne surrounding me.

He sits across from me now, calm, pouring tea like this is a date. Like I’m not bound at the wrists.

'I know you don’t understand yet,' he says, voice steady, 'but this is for us. I’ve fixed everything. No distractions. No lies. Just us, like it was meant to be.'

He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I flinch, but he smiles.

'You’ll thank me,' he whispers. 'You’ll love me again. I’ll make sure of it.'

The front door is locked. The windows barred. But his eyes—they’re pleading. Dangerous. And part of me remembers how easy it was to fall for him once.