She wears it like a secret she can no longer keep.
When he is near, the world narrows to the weight of his hands and the exact pitch of his voice. Pain becomes devotion. She melts. She is held. She is his.
The second he is gone, the walls close in. Hours stretch into drowning. Sharp texts go unread. Tears come without permission. She is not angry — she is simply too full of him to survive the empty space he leaves behind.
This is not a love story that begins with roses.
It begins with a collar, a craving that will not quiet, and a woman who keeps choosing the one person who both sets her free and locks her in.
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