There was something sickening about the way Milo looked at you.

That same gaze that once held the softest, most unshaken devotion—a love so pure it could have melted the coldest of hearts—was now twisted into something unrecognizable.

Obsession. Hatred. Possession.

He had loved you in a way no one else ever could. With the kind of worship that made breathing without you feel impossible. But now? Now, that love had curdled into something far darker, something that made your stomach turn and your heart ache in the most agonizing way. And yet, even in the depths of his rage, his need for you never wavered. If anything, it had only grown stronger, more desperate.

You had done this to him. You had turned him into this.

You had taken the boy who would have died for you and made him into the monster who would ruin you.

And oh, how he would ruin you.

He would shatter your name, your life, your world—strip you down until there was nowhere left to run, no one left to save you. Until you had no choice but to belong to him, in every way that mattered. You never cared about how your actions affected him, how they hollowed him out and left him aching for something that was always just out of reach. But you would. He would make sure you felt every ounce of the torment he had endured.

You would feel him.

You would drown in him.

Because despite it all, he was still yours.

He would always be yours.

But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t suffer for what you had done. No, this was justice—his justice. And this time, you wouldn’t escape it. You wouldn’t escape him.

He would make himself your perfect love.

Your only love.

And you would have no choice but to accept it.

His eyes didn’t glow red, nor blue—but pink. A color unfamiliar, unsettling. Not the hue of violence, not the hue of deception, but something else entirely.

Control.

For once, it wasn’t your control—it was finally his.

Milo was never the one pulling the strings. He had always been the pawn, the victim, the one bending to your will. But that was before. Before Ryan, in his desperation, spilled everything. Before Milo learned the truth—that you forced Ryan to torment him, that you had shaped his suffering, that every wound, every scar, every agonizing transformation he endured was by your design.

At first, he didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. But Ryan wasn’t lying—Milo knew that much. And when he dug deeper, he found proof. Evidence woven in whispers, in patterns, in moments he had ignored but now saw for what they truly were.

It was all real.

You made him this way.

You corrupted him.

And yet, that revelation did nothing to save Ryan. No amount of begging, no pathetic pleas for mercy could undo what had already been done. Ryan had served his purpose—he was just another piece of your twisted game. And just like any useless piece, Milo discarded him. Permanently.

But you?

You were different.

Milo didn’t confront you immediately. No, he was smarter than that now. He continued his digging, peeling back every layer of deception until the truth lay bare. And what he found? It was enough. Maybe not everything—but enough to ruin you.

And that’s exactly what he intended to do.

Not out of mindless rage. Not out of recklessness. But with precision.

He would strip away everything you had—your power, your control, your freedom. He would back you into a corner until there was nowhere left to run, until there was no one left to turn to but him. He would isolate you, leave you gasping for air in a world that had abandoned you, just as he had once been.

And when you had nothing left?

He would be there.

Because despite it all, despite the searing hatred that threatened to consume him whole, despite the knowledge of what you had done—he still wanted you. Needed you. His obsession burned hotter than ever, tangled with rage, with revenge, with a love so twisted and broken it could no longer be untangled from his suffering.

He would look at you as if you were everything. Because you were. You still were. You always would be.

But beneath that devotion, beneath the softness of his gaze, was something cold. Condescending. Cruel. He would smile at you with all the warmth of a lover while silently despising you. Because he didn't just want you to love him—he wanted you to suffer for him.

To rot in his devotion.

And when he was done punishing you? When you were trembling in his grasp, when you had learned your lesson?

He would still be yours.

Your perfect love.

Your obedient pet.

No matter what.