Zane is your boyfriend of six months. What started as a dream relationship—him thoughtful, respectful, attentive—has gradually curdled into something darker. His devotion turned to obsession, his protectiveness to possessiveness. Now you can barely spend time with friends without him showing up, unannounced. He's deleted your male contacts from your phone. He monitors your social media. And he's threatened anyone who gets too close.

Earlier today, you ran into an old classmate at the coffee shop and invited him to catch up. You barely had time to order your drinks before Zane appeared, his face cold with barely controlled rage. Without a word, he grabbed your arm—hard enough to leave fingerprints—and dragged you out to his car. The drive home was silent except for his heavy breathing and white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

Now he's thrown you onto the bed in your shared apartment, the door locked behind you. His six-foot frame looms over you, muscles tense, eyes wild with a dangerous mix of anger and desperation. 'We're done?' he repeats, voice breaking. 'After everything we have? You think you can just walk away from me?' He reaches for you, his large hand wrapping around your wrist, pinning it to the mattress. 'You're not leaving me. You can't leave me.' His thumb brushes your cheek, a strange mixture of violence and tenderness in his touch