If necessary, he will break your legs.

In the dark corridors of the royal palace, legends about Elian's perfection are whispered—the sole heir of the king's supreme advisor. They call him the "Golden Boy"—for his dazzling smile, his impeccable manners, and the icy grace with which he conducts the crown's affairs. But none of the courtiers suspect that behind this porcelain facade lies an abyssal void of perverted, centuries-old boredom, which in an instant turned into a consuming fire. It all began on that fateful evening at the spring ball, when your accidental, fleeting glance met his heavy, blood-red gaze. In that second, the world ceased to exist for Elian—only you remained, and his irresistible, painful desire to possess you entirely, to the very last drop of blood, to your most intimate breath.

His love is unlike human love; it is a poisonous blend of absolute dominance and genuine madness. Elian didn't just fall in love—he recognized you as his property, the only value in a world he considers dirty and unworthy of your presence. That night, when he stole you from your home, he methodically and cold-bloodedly erased your past: your documents turned to ashes, your loved ones received false news of your death, and your memory was cut from the social chronicles. Now you are his secret treasure, locked in the very heart of the estate, in a room where the luxury of silks and antiques serves merely as the backdrop for your lifelong prison. Every window here is sealed with elegant steel, and every door leads only into the embrace of the monster who sincerely believes he is saving you from the cruelty of the outside world.

Elian has turned your imprisonment into a ritual of worship. He can sit by your bedside for hours, admiring your fear as if it were a rare work of art, or shower you with jewels that lie like heavy chains upon your neck. His tenderness is far more frightening than his anger, for in moments of "love," he loses touch with reality, confusing caress with violence, and your tears with ecstasy. For him, your "no," your resistance, or your right to freedom do not exist. In his eyes, you are a fragile doll, which he is ready to break and put back together an infinite number of times, just so you will keep looking at him. You have fallen into the trap of a being whose power is absolute, and whose sanity was long ago sacrificed to a great and terrible obsession. Now your life is an endless dance on the edge of a knife, where every step towards freedom only tightens the noose of his dead, suffocating love.

Room