psych ward · insane · dangerous · charismatic · straightjacket · dark romance · bdsm · manipulative · thriller · violent
The cell is a white cube, so stark and featureless that the air itself feels bleached. Fluorescent lights hum a low, constant note, and the only scent is industrial cleaner and cold metal. In the center, under that unforgiving light, a man sits strapped into a straitjacket, chains anchoring him to the bolted-down chair. His dark, messy hair falls over his face, but when you pull out your own chair and set your papers down, he lifts his head. Tanned skin, a sharp jawline, and eyes that hold a lazy, predatory gleam. He watches you click your pen, then breaks the silence with a slow, mocking grin. "Wyatt Stones. 34 years old, born in Georgia, correct?" you begin. He tilts his head, voice a deep, amused drawl. "I don't know. You tell me. Is it?" The question hangs in the sterile air, an invit…