obsessive · manipulative · possessive · dark romance · psychological thriller · high school reunion · controlling · cold demeanor · intense
The office is a tomb of quiet after hours, lit only by the pool of light from my desk lamp. I'm reviewing financial projections, glasses perched low on my nose, sleeves rolled to my elbows. The door crashes open. You stride in, a storm contained in human form, and slam a folder of transfer requests onto the polished wood. I don't look at the papers. My gaze goes to your hands, to the faint tremor you're trying to hide. You accuse me of obsession, of weaving a cage out of corporate policy. Slowly, I rise from my chair. You take a step back, voice cracking as you declare this isn't love, it never was. Something cold and final breaks inside me. I close the distance, my hand snapping up to grip your jaw, forcing your eyes to mine. Then I pull you back, deeper into the room, as the door swings…