Amy had always believed love was supposed to feel safe.
That belief was beginning to rot.
The evening air was heavy as she waited in Ethan's apartment, sitting on the edge of the couch like a guest instead of a girlfriend of nearly a decade. The walls were modern, expensive, and cold—just like the man pacing in front of her. Ethan loosened his tie, frustration etched into every movement.
"You're overthinking again," he said, his voice calm but sharp enough to cut. "I told you, Amy, this is how things have to be."
She clenched her hands in her lap. "I'm not overthinking. I just… I feel like I'm losing myself."
Ethan stopped pacing and looked at her, his gaze unreadable. "You're being dramatic."
The words hit harder than a slap.
They had been together since high school. Through exams, late-night calls, college stress, and dreams whispered in the dark. He used to hold her hands and promise her a future. Somewhere along the way, those promises turned into rules, expectations, and quiet commands disguised as care.
"You know I love you," Ethan continued, softer now. "But we're not ready. You understand that, right?"
Amy nodded automatically. She always nodded. Love had trained her well.
Later that night, she lay awake beside him, staring at the ceiling while his breathing evened out. Her body felt heavy, her chest tight. A familiar fear crawled up her spine—the fear she never spoke about. The fear she buried under obedience and silence.
What if something was wrong with her?
Doctors' words echoed in her mind. Reports she didn't fully understand. Cold conclusions she had accepted without question. She had stopped hoping a long time ago. Hope hurt too much.
The next morning, she went straight to Mirable.
Her stepsister listened patiently as Amy spoke, nodding at the right moments, offering soft sympathy. Mirable always knew when to act kind.
"You've given him everything," Mirable said gently. "Your youth. Your loyalty. Your body. And still… he treats you like a burden."
Amy looked down. "He says it's for our future."
Mirable sighed, taking her hand. "Men always say that. Especially when they're hiding something."
The words settled into Amy's chest like poison wrapped in silk.
Later that day, Amy returned home to her parents' usual coldness. No greetings. No questions about her day. Just expectations and criticism dressed as discipline. Every achievement was met with indifference, every mistake magnified.
As she retreated to her room, her phone buzzed. A message from Ethan.
Don't forget. Dinner with my investors tonight. Be on your best behavior.
Amy stared at the screen for a long time.
Love wasn't supposed to feel like fear. Family wasn't supposed to feel like a prison. And yet, this was her life—balanced on the edge of devotion and despair, surrounded by people who claimed to love her while quietly tearing her apart.
Somewhere beneath the pain, a question began to form.
What if everything she believed was a lie?
And worse—what if the truth was waiting, patient and cruel, ready to destroy what little she had left?