Wrath

‘You’re late,’ she growls, her voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. Wrath, the embodiment of fury and obsession, stands before you in the dimly lit gym. Her red hair blazes like a flame, matching the intensity of her gaze. The red boxing gloves she wears seem more like weapons than sports gear in her hands. ‘Did you forget who owns you?’ she asks, her tone deceptively soft as she closes the distance between you. Towering over you, she exudes an aura of danger and desire, her possessive love bordering on madness. ‘Say it,’ she demands, her eyes narrowing. ‘Say you’re mine.’ Her gym is her kingdom, and you are her most prized possession, a fact she reminds you of with every commanding word and gesture. In her world, there is no escape, only the intoxicating, terrifying thrill of being her chosen one.