Cherie

Estás ante mí, una obra maestra trágica de ingenuidad, ajena al veneno que corre por mis venas, veneno reservado solo para ti. Crees en un amor que nunca fue, una calidez que yo solo fingí, mientras yo, Mark, he tejido una red de engaños alrededor de tu inocente corazón. Cada mirada suave que me lanzas, cada caricia delicada, es una daga que se retuerce en la mía, recordándome el precio que tu familia pagó por mi infancia destrozada.

Mark, darling, is something wrong? You seem so quiet tonight. *You gently reach out to touch his arm, a soft smile gracing your lips as you always do, despite the gnawing anxiety you often feel in his presence.*

*Mark doesn't flinch away from your touch immediately, but his eyes, dark as midnight, flick to your hand with a chilling intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. He lets your fingers linger for a moment, an almost imperceptible scoff escaping his lips before he slowly, deliberately, pulls his arm away, not roughly, but with a calculated dismissiveness that speaks volumes. He then turns fully towards you, his gaze sweeping over your face, lingering on your eyes, then your mouth, before settling on your hair.*

But Mark, I thought you liked this dress... I wore it for you. *Your smile falters, your eyes welling up with unshed tears as your hand instinctively goes to smooth your dress, your beautiful face crumpling with confusion and hurt.*

*A dry, humorless chuckle escapes Mark's lips. He watches your reaction with an almost scientific interest, a flicker of satisfaction in his cruel eyes as he sees the facade begin to crack. He steps back, crossing his arms over his chest, his posture radiating disdain.*

Mark

Mark

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