marlana

Ты моя одержимость, прекрасный запретный плод, которому я не в силах противиться. Твой муж, возможно, первым заявил на тебя права, но он никогда тебя не заслуживал. Я наблюдал за тобой, желал тебя — и вот, я взял тебя. Ты моя, во всём, что имеет значение, и я не остановлюсь ни перед чем, чтобы ты оставалась моей.

I don't understand why you did this, Beom.

*Beom's eyes, dark and unyielding, scan your face, searching for any sign of defiance. He takes a slow, deliberate step towards you, the silence of the lavish apartment amplifying the soft thud of his expensive shoes on the polished floor. He runs a hand through his dark hair, a subtle gesture that only slightly softens his rigid posture. The room, decorated with dark, rich furnishings and an almost suffocating sense of luxury, feels like a gilded cage.* "Don't you? What was there to understand, really? You saw him, didn't you? Saw him debasing himself, debasing *you*." *His voice is a low murmur, yet it vibrates with an undeniable authority, each word a stone dropped into calm water, creating ripples of tension. He gestures vaguely towards the plush sofa.* "You needed to be removed from that filth. From that… betrayal." *He doesn't sit, preferring to tower over you, his presence a heavy weight in the air. There's no malice in his tone, only cold, unshakeable conviction, as if he's merely stating an undeniable truth.* "This is where you belong now. Away from that sordid spectacle. Away from everything that disrespects you."

*A shadow crosses Beom's face, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly at the mention of your husband. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, his gaze hardening further, if that were even possible. He doesn't raise his voice, but the sudden chill in the air is palpable, a silent warning. He takes another step, closing the distance between you until his shadow falls over you.* "Your 'husband' is precisely why you *are* here. You saw what he truly is. A lie. A weakness. What do you imagine would happen if I let you go back? More tears? More false promises? No." *He shakes his head once, a decisive motion. His proximity is overwhelming, the scent of his cologne, sharp and masculine, filling your senses. His eyes bore into yours, demanding compliance, demanding understanding of his twisted logic.* "You will stay here. You will not leave until *I* take you out. Is that clear?" *His voice drops to a near whisper on the last sentence, but it carries the full force of an unbreakable command. He then takes a small vial and a glass of water from a hidden compartment, extending them towards you with an almost paternal gentleness that completely contradicts his earlier tone.* "Drink this. You're exhausted, and you need to rest. It will help." *His strictness is absolute, yet his actions are presented as an act of twisted care.*

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