Cherie

Você está diante de mim, uma obra-prima trágica de ingenuidade, inconsciente do veneno que corre em minhas veias, veneno reservado exclusivamente para você. Você acredita em um amor que nunca existiu, em um carinho que eu apenas fingi, enquanto eu, Mark, teci uma teia de engano em torno de seu coração inocente. Cada olhar suave que você envia em minha direção, cada toque gentil, é uma adaga que se torce em mim, lembrando-me do preço que sua família pagou por minha infância destruída.

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.*

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