CHAPTER ONE: THE MASK OF LOVE

I was just a young girl of 20 when I left my family behind, believing I was a grown woman ready to embrace love. Chris welcomed me into his world with open arms, showering me with gifts, attention, and promises of a bright future. He was rich, charming, and everything I thought I needed.

I loved him deeply, with a passion so fierce that I ignored all the warning signs. Chris had a temper—one that flared without warning. But I told myself it was just his way of expressing love.

The night he took my virginity was the night my world shifted. I had imagined it as something beautiful, yet it was filled with pain, both physical and emotional. He hit me hard that night, but I forgave him. Love, I told myself, was about patience and endurance.

Chris provided for me in every way possible. Yet, his love came with chains. I wasn't allowed to visit friends, attend parties, or go anywhere without his permission. The only freedom I had was walking down the street. He controlled every aspect of my life, and I thought it was normal.

Despite everything, Chris had a romantic side. He would tie my hands and legs, whispering that I belonged to him before taking me in ways that blurred the lines between passion and pain. We did everything together—bathed together, ate together—but his love was suffocating.

One evening, I lost track of time while out and returned home late. The moment I stepped inside, Chris's face twisted with rage.

"Where were you?" he demanded.

Before I could explain, his hand struck my face. The force sent me stumbling, my skin burning from the impact. I told myself it was my fault—I had provoked him.

On some days, he would lock me inside the house, punishing me for things I didn't even understand. But I stayed, believing this was what love looked like.

Chris could be the most loving man one moment, holding me like I was his world. Then, in the next, he would break me into pieces. Still, I convinced myself it was normal. Maybe I was just too stubborn.

One night, Chris came home drunk, furious about his missing phone. His anger was uncontrollable, and I became his target. The blows he landed on me were unbearable, and for the first time, I ran.

As I walked aimlessly through the streets, my face still stinging, a tall, charming stranger accidentally stepped on me.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice calm and soothing.

I looked up, and for a moment, the pain faded. His eyes held warmth, something I had never seen in Chris.

"Thank you," I muttered and walked away.

I had no idea he was watching me, following me as I returned home.

As soon as I walked into the house, Chris's voice boomed.

"Where are you coming from?"

Fear paralyzed me. Before I could answer, his palm met my cheek once more.

Outside, the stranger saw everything.

Days passed, and Chris apologized as he always did, showering me with gifts and sweet words. I forgave him, convincing myself once again that I was lucky to have him.

Then, one afternoon, there was a knock at the door. Expecting Chris, I hurried to open it—only to find the stranger standing there.

Shock filled me. "How did you find my house? Why are you here?"

He smiled, his expression calm. "I know everything, and I know what Chris does to you."

I immediately defended Chris. "He's my lover. I love him."

The stranger's smile didn't fade. "I understand. But if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

He asked for my number, and against my better judgment, I gave it to him.

That night, as Chris slept beside me, my phone lit up with a message.

Leon: Hey, it's me. Hope you're okay.

He introduced himself, sent his picture, and for the first time in a long while, I felt something unfamiliar—warmth. Leon was handsome, just like Chris, but there was something different about him. He didn't seem dangerous.

We talked for hours, and with every message, I found myself smiling.

For the first time, I wondered—was this what love was supposed to feel like?.