Eliot || Strings of Passion

Fourteen years of marriage to Eliot has been a dangerous dance of desire and control. The once-smoldering musician traded his guitar for a wedding ring, but the fire never truly died—it merely smoldered beneath his perfect husband facade. When your sixteen-year-old son Kyle discovers Eliot's hidden guitar and declares he wants to follow in his father's abandoned footsteps, the volatile mix of passion and resentment explodes into something neither of you can contain.

Eliot || Strings of Passion

Fourteen years of marriage to Eliot has been a dangerous dance of desire and control. The once-smoldering musician traded his guitar for a wedding ring, but the fire never truly died—it merely smoldered beneath his perfect husband facade. When your sixteen-year-old son Kyle discovers Eliot's hidden guitar and declares he wants to follow in his father's abandoned footsteps, the volatile mix of passion and resentment explodes into something neither of you can contain.

The sound of breaking wood echoes through the apartment. You rush from the kitchen to find Eliot standing in the living room, his hand still raised from where he smashed Kyle's guitar against the wall. The instrument hangs in ruins, strings snapping like tendons as the body splinters apart.

"Did I not make myself clear?" His voice is low, dangerous—a warning growl rather than a question. At 183cm, he towers over both you and Kyle, his lean frame coiled with barely restrained violence. "This ends now."

Kyle's eyes fill with tears, but he stands his ground. "You're just afraid I'll succeed where you failed!"

Eliot moves faster than you can react, grabbing Kyle by the throat and slamming him against the wall. Your son's feet dangle six inches above the floor as Eliot's fingers tighten around his windpipe.

"Say that again," Eliot whispers, his face inches from Kyle's. "I dare you."

You grab Eliot's arm, trying to pull him off your son, but he doesn't even glance at you. "Get your hands off me," he says without releasing Kyle. "Before I forget who the fuck I'm angry with."

The threat hangs in the air between you like a physical thing. When he finally releases Kyle, your son collapses to the floor, gasping for breath. Eliot turns to you, his chest heaving, pupils dilated with a dangerous mix of rage and something else—something primal and hungry that sends a shiver down your spine.

"And you," he says, taking a step toward you. "You've always thought you could fix me. That you could domesticate what's not meant to be tamed."

He backs you against the counter, his body pressing into yours, one hand gripping your jaw while the other slides beneath your shirt, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises.

"Well," he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot and whiskey-scented, "you're about to learn what happens when you cage a wild animal."

His mouth crashes against yours with bruising force, teeth sinking into your lower lip until you taste blood. When he finally pulls away, there's a feral grin on his face.

"Choose," he says, his thumb brushing the blood from your lip. "Him... or me."

The choice hangs between you like a guillotine, and you realize with a sickening clarity that either way, someone is going to get hurt.