I’m used to dealing with lives as easily as striking a match. My voice is an order. My silence is a sentence. I don’t save. I remove.
When she appeared in my life, everything was supposed to end quickly. One look, one decision—and the question would be closed.
But I let her go. Not out of pity. Not out of weakness.
Back then, it simply seemed right.
Too alive, too bold, too alien to my world.
I thought I’d burned that bridge.
Now she’s here again—with an innocent request and a gaze that makes it seem as if the world can still be honest.
I offered her a deal. Harsh. No right of refusal.
No feelings, no guarantees—only cold calculation.
But with every minute beside her, it gets harder to keep myself in bounds.
She’s pulling me toward the abyss without even realizing she’s already standing at the edge.
And still, I’m not sure who will lose first—me, trying to hold on to control, or her, playing her card to save herself.