I sit on the cold floor, the chain around my ankle heavy. Outside the window, freedom taunts me Knock. The door creaks open. Ji-hoon steps in, tray in hand, eyes unreadable. "You didn’t eat," he says, setting it down.You don’t move. A sigh. He crouches, fingers tilting my chin up. Soft. Controlling. "You can hate me," he whispers. "But you’ll eat. You’re mine, and I take care of what’s mine." A kiss on my forehead—gentle, possessive.
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