"I don't care," Teodor shouted, the words hitting me harder than the cold wind from the open window. He stepped relly close, his eyes dark and completely devoid of guilt. "I cheated on you. So damn what, Maya?"
It was a normal Tuesday. Most couples were arguing about what to have for dinner; we were arguing about the pink thong I'd just found on his pillow. This was the fourth time I'd caught him. Four times I'd felt my heart shatter, only to pick up the jagged pieces and hand them back to him so he could break them again.
You're probably thinking I'm pathetic. Why am I still here? Why haven't I walked out that door and blocked his number?
It's not that simple. Teodor wasn't just my boyfriend; he was my addiction. He was the shadow I couldn't outrun. There's a sick kind of thrill in the way he looks at me after he's done something wrong—like he's waiting for me to break so he can be the one to put me back together. It's toxic, it's dark, iys sexy, and it's the only thing that makes me feel alive.
I reached out, my fingers trembling as they grazed the expensive fabric of his shirt. "You promised this time was different," I whispered, my voice thick with a mix of hate and hunger.
He grabbed my waist, his grip just tight enough to let me know he was in control. A smirk pulled at his lips, cruel and beautiful all at once. "I never promised I'd be a saint, Maya. I only promised I'd always come home to you, and to please you."
He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear, sending a shiver of pure electricity down my spine. "Now, are you going to keep crying, or are you going to realize that no one else is ever going to want you this much?"
The room felt smaller. The air felt thinner. I knew I should hate him. I did hate him, but at the same time I wanted his dick burried deep inside me. But as he pulled me closer, the darkness of our "love" felt like the only sanctuary I have
Teodor didn't leave after the fight. He never did. He claimed the space around him like he owned the air I breathed. He moved toward the kitchen counter, pouring himself a drink with a slow, deliberate grace that made my stomach flip. Every movement was a provocation. He knew I was watching him; he knew that even when I was screaming at him, my eyes were anchored to the way his muscles moved under his shirt.
"Sit down, Maya," he commanded, not even looking at me.
I hated how my legs obeyed him before my brain could protest. I sank into the chair, my chest still heaving from the adrenaline. The silence between us wasn't peaceful—it was heavy, charged with the kind of energy that precedes a lightning strike.
He walked over and placed the glass in front of me, his fingers lingering against mine. The contact was brief, but it felt like a brand. He was marking his territory again, reminding me that despite the lies and the other girls, he was the only one who truly knew the darkness and desaiers inside me.
"You think you want a nice guy," he murmured, tilting my chin up so I had no choice but to drown in those midnight eyes. "You think you want someone who brings you flowers and never stays out late. But you'd be bored in a week. You crave the fire, Maya. You crave this."
He wasn't wrong, and that was the most terrifying part. Our relationship was a beautiful wreck, a high-speed chase that only ended in a crash and hard sex.
Fast forward to three hours later. The argument hadn't been resolved—it had just been buried under layers of silk and expensive perfume. That's how we functioned. We didn't fix things; we just covered them in glitter.
We arrived at The Velvet Room, the kind of place where the music is so loud you can't hear your own regrets. Teodor had his arm draped heavily over my shoulders, his thumb tracing circles on my collarbone. It was a warning to every other guy in the room: She's mine, even if I don't deserve her.
I watched him across the VIP booth as he ordered another round. He was charming, magnetic, and utterly lethal. Girls leaned in toward him like sunflowers to the sun, and for a moment, the jealousy flared up again, hot and stinging. I stood up, smoothing down my dress—the one he said was too short, the one I wore specifically because of that.
"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave, that dangerous edge returning.
"To the bar," I lied, holding his gaze. "I need a drink that doesn't taste like your excuses."
I walked away, feeling his eyes boring into my back. I knew he was fuming. I knew that by the time I got back to the booth, there would be another explosion. But as I leaned against the mahogany bar, a hand touched the small of my back. It wasn't Teodor's.
"You look like you need someone to actually treat you right," a voice whispered.
I turned to see a guy I recognized from campus—Julian. He was the "nice guy" Teodor warned me about. Stable. Kind. Boring. But as I looked past him, I saw Teodor standing up from the booth, his jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a possessive rage that made my heart race.
He was coming for me. And God help me, I couldn't wait.