"Eternally"

August 2nd, 2025

At Ruth's villa - 7:02 AM

Darkness faded slowly. Ian's lids twitched open, his vision blurred as if awakening from drowning in ink. For a moment, he didn't move - only felt. The silky texture of the sheets beneath him. The subtle coolness of the morning air brushing against his skin. The faint golden light slipping between the drawn velvet curtains. He inhaled.

And exhaled.

His lungs ached like they hadn't breathed properly in hours.

Then, a thought hit him like a jolt of static.

He sat up.

No gag.

No ropes.

No cuffs biting into his wrists or ankles.

He blinked. Once. Twice. His hands trembled slightly as he examined them. Free.

A small wave of relief washed over him—but only for a second. Because right after that, memory struck like a blade.

Jayden.

Ian turned his head sharply toward the corner of the room where Jayden had once sat, tied to a chair, lifeless, mutilated, his blood soaking into the rug like spilled ink.

But now... the chair was empty.

The corpse was gone.

Ian stared at the vacant space, his breath stuck in his throat. The silence in the room grew heavier. That damn villa was too quiet - too elegant for the nightmare that had happened in it.

He swallowed hard, forced himself to breathe again. But then - he smelled something.

A scent so... unexpected it almost felt like a hallucination.

Bacon. Butter. Freshly brewed coffee.

Eggs sizzling in a pan. Sweetness in the air - like syrup, sugar, and fruit.

His stomach growled. Loudly.

Ian flinched, startled by the sound of his own hunger. Cautiously, he slid off the bed, his bare feet pressing against the cold marble floor. Every step felt like walking into a trap, but the scent kept pulling him forward like a siren song.

He opened the bedroom door - Ruth's room, he realized with a shudder - and stepped into the hallway. The villa wasn't a house. It was a palace. Wide halls, gold-accented molding, and art that probably cost more than his entire life. Everything echoed.

He followed the scent.

Down a long corridor.

Then to the winding staircase.

Down... down... with slow, measured steps.

He reached the ground floor. The marble floor reflected the sunlight bleeding through massive windows. And then, finally, he turned a corner - toward the kitchen.

There, he saw her.

Ruth.

Wearing a black, transparent robe that clung to her like smoke. Her bare silhouette ghosted beneath the fabric, elegant and intimate. She stood in front of the stove, hips swaying as she stirred something in a skillet, humming an old jazz love song. Her back to him. Completely at ease.

Ian's gaze dropped to the kitchen table.

And his breath caught.

A grand feast lay before him - both American and Japanese breakfast foods prepared with luxurious detail.

Eggs, crispy bacon, buttered toast, thick slices of wagyu beef, tamagoyaki, steaming bowls of miso soup, rice, pickled vegetables. The kind of breakfast spread you'd only see in five-star hotels. It didn't make sense.

It was too perfect.

Ruth didn't turn, but she spoke. Her voice sweet and angelic, like sugar coating poison.

"Dig in, baby. I made it for you."

Ian's stomach growled again, louder this time, betraying his caution. He hesitated - then slowly pulled out a chair and sat. His fingers hovered over the silverware, unsure whether to eat or flee. He glanced at her again.

Ruth was still humming.

Then he asked, his voice dry and uncertain. "Why… why did you remove the gag and the ropes?"

Ruth giggled.

"How could you eat if you're gagged, silly?" she said, playfully, as if the question were absurd.

Then, she turned. In her hands, a porcelain plate stacked high with pancakes - dripping with chocolate sauce, topped with strawberries, powdered sugar, and a dollop of cream. A breakfast straight from heaven.

Ian didn't answer. He stared at the pancakes like they were radioactive.

Ruth chuckled again, her tone loving, indulgent.

She walked toward him and placed the plate down gently in front of him, then sat beside him with elegant ease.

He stared at the pancakes.

"But…" Ian started, his voice a whisper. "But I could run now…"

Ruth cut him off smoothly, her tone shifting to something eerily tender.

"I know, I know," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're free to leave."

Ian's eyebrows drew in, skeptical. His body tensed.

Then Ruth's voice deepened, almost reverent.

"But you may run… you can never escape me, Ian. You are bound to me. Eternally."

Ian's spine tingled.

"And death…" she added with a soft, eerie smile, "will not part us. I swear it."

Her words hung in the air like a curse.

Ian stared at her. There was a light in her eyes - not madness, not quite. Something more terrifying. A calm certainty. An obsessive, romantic delusion so deeply rooted that it felt invincible.

She loved him, in a way only a predator could love its prey.

It wasn't about possession.

Now, he knew....

It was about the thrill - the game, the chase, the moment she catches him every time he runs. It excited her. Completed her.

Ian couldn't find words. His mouth opened slightly, then shut again. He looked down at the pancakes.

And suddenly, he couldn't tell if he was hungry or sick.

Then-

A voice.

Rough. Deep. Casual. Masculine.

"Ruth? You're here? Smells like heaven in here!"

Ian froze.

Ruth's expression didn't change. But her body stiffened for just a second.

She looked toward the hallway, where the voice had come from.

Leo.

Her husband.

"Coming, darling!" she called out sweetly, and turned back to Ian.

Their faces were inches apart now. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Eat up, my love. Be good for me. I'll deal with this."

She touched his cheek gently. Lovingly.

But her fingernails grazed his skin just enough to remind him she wasn't human.

She stood, turned, and walked gracefully out of the room, hips swaying like a hypnotic pendulum.

Ian sat there, paralyzed. Alone with the pancakes.

The aroma filled his senses.

But so did her words.

"You may run… you can never escape me."