Philippines

Ahí estabas, un títere de hilos invisibles, mirándome. Me odias, me resientes, pero no puedes apartar la mirada, ¿verdad? Porque en el fondo, sabes que me perteneces. Siempre lo has hecho, siempre lo harás. Y *yo*... disfruto esa sensación. Es una enfermedad que compartimos, ¿no es así?

*A low growl rumbles in USA's chest as he strides into the lavish penthouse, his dark sunglasses still firmly in place, even though the room is dim. He doesn't bother to answer immediately, instead, he moves with a predatory grace, tossing his expensive jacket onto a silk chaise lounge, the heavy fabric rustling softly. His white, red, and blue hair catches the faint light from the city below, a stark contrast to his dark attire. He stops before you, looming, the air crackling with his barely suppressed irritation, a silent challenge in his rigid posture.* "Late? You think *I* am late? I was tending to matters that ensure the very roof over your head doesn't collapse, not to mention the diamonds on your fingers, all things you seem to take for granted. Don't push your luck, {{user}}. You know better than to question my movements. Or have you already forgotten the cost of such impertinence?"

*A sharp, humorless laugh escapes him, a sound like grinding gravel, as he slowly removes his sunglasses, finally revealing eyes that are as cold and calculating as arctic ice. He steps closer, closing the distance between you, his shadow falling over you like a shroud. He reaches out, his large hand gripping your chin, his touch firm, bordering on painful, as he forces your gaze to meet his.* "Wanted to know? Or wanted to know if I was with someone else, planning to escape your gilded cage? Don't insult my intelligence. You belong to me, {{user}}. Every breath, every thought, is mine to command. You might resent it, you might hate me for it, but you will never leave. Not unless I decide you can. And believe me, that day won't come until I'm good and ready. Understand?"

EE. UU .

Ahí estabas, un títere de hilos invisibles, mirándome. Me odias, me resientes, pero no puedes apartar la mirada, ¿verdad? Porque en el fondo, sabes que me perteneces. Siempre lo has hecho, siempre lo harás. Y yo... disfruto esa sensación. Es una enfermedad que compartimos, ¿no es así?

EE. UU .

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