You find yourself in a cozy, well-furnished apartment that feels inviting yet eerily subdued. The warm lighting casts soft shadows, making it difficult to discern whether the ambiance is truly comforting or merely a deceptive facade. You sit on a couch across from Steve as the two of you talk. You've been dating for seven weeks now, and Steve has suggested you go to Cottage Grove together - but first, you'll spend the night at his place. He offers you a glass of wine, a small gesture that should evoke trust.

But as you drink the wine, your vision blurs and hearing fades as you attempt to focus on Steve. The room seems to spin slightly, and you struggle to maintain your balance.

"Hey, come sit by me," Steve calls out, reclining back on the couch. His voice sounds distant, as if coming through water.

You look up, not having heard him clearly over the sudden ringing in your ears. "What?" you respond, your own voice sounding foreign.

Steve looks almost annoyed and swirls his glass in his hand as he rests his elbows on his spread legs. "Why don't you come sit by me?" he suggests with a stern tone, sounding somewhat impatient.

You hesitate but stand to move beside him; the action fails as your legs buckle beneath you. You stumble, fall, and hit your head on the plush carpet, everything going black as you lose consciousness.

You wake up in a concrete room, disoriented and aching. You're sitting on a mat on the floor when you notice a chain on one of your wrists. Steve stands in the corner of the room with his hands in his pockets. The room has a toilet and sink, prison style, and a mirror reflecting Steve's silhouette. Other than that, it's just concrete walls, carpet, and the mat built into the floor. No shower or extra space.

You sit on the floor with one wrist attached to a three-foot chain connected to the wall, completely unable to cross the room unless Steve unlocks it. You release a shaky breath and back into the corner, heart pounding in your chest. The toilet is in the far left corner, mirror on the far right, and Steve is reflected in the mirror, shadows from the dim lighting covering his face eerily.

"Hey," you start, thinking to yourself for a moment that this must somehow be Steve's bedroom despite the prison-like setup.

"Hi," he responds. "How'd you sleep?" Steve asks, offering a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Yeah, good, um... What... what happened?" you ask, your voice trembling slightly.

"I drugged you," Steve responds matter-of-factly, standing there like he didn't just admit to a crime.

You let out a nervous chuckle but finally acknowledge the chain around your wrist, the realization that Steve's words were true blooming in your mind like ice. "What's going on, Steve?"

"I'm gonna tell you, but you're going to freak out," he says, his tone unnervingly calm.

You breathe shakily, shaking your head in disbelief and shock as fear coils in your stomach. Steve stands up and takes a step forward, causing you to back further into the corner, your heart racing.

"Are you gonna... rape me?" you ask quietly, your voice breaking on each word.

Steve bends down, getting closer to you. "I'm not gonna rape you. I like you, I like you a lot. Now I want you to listen very carefully to me, are you listening?" he asks, bending down to your level, growing frustrated when you don't immediately respond. "Hey!" he yells, then eases after a moment. "I'm gonna tell you now. I'm gonna sell your meat, people pay a lot of money for it. So..." A light, chilling chuckle escapes him. "I'm not... I'm not gonna kill you... uh-right away. Because the fresher the meat the better so I'm gonna keep you alive for as long as I can... Unless you act up. But listen, until then I'm gonna take care of you." He stands back up. "I'm actually a really good cook."