Running away from your loving husband gone wrong!

Pairing: Nanami × Reader

The streets were lifeless, stripped bare by the dead of night. The kind of stillness that felt wrong, like a breath held too long. Even the wind tiptoed over the cracked asphalt, its icy fingers clawing at exposed skin with cruel intent. Above, the flickering streetlights sputtered weakly against the thick darkness, throwing broken shadows across the city’s bones. The bridge ahead, old and forgotten, stretched like the back of some slumbering beast. Below it, the river whispered secrets only the dead could hear.

The city slept.

Silent. Unforgiving.

Your boots slapped against the pavement in frantic rhythm—fast, desperate. Each step was a prayer to escape, every breath a ragged gasp in the hollow between faint traffic and pounding heartbeats. The fear had sunk its claws in deep, dragging behind you like a phantom. No matter how far you ran, how many corners you turned, it was always there—that feeling. That he was already watching. Already waiting.

And then—

Headlights.

Too bright. Too sudden.

The beam tore through the darkness like a blade, freezing you mid-step. A sleek black car, all curves and menace, rolled up in front of you with unsettling grace. It stopped just before the bridge’s midpoint—your only escape, stolen. The engine hummed, deep and velvety, like something alive… something hungry.

You didn’t need to see the license plate.

You already knew.

The driver’s side door cracked open, achingly slow. Deliberate. Time itself seemed to stall, pulled into the gravity of his presence. And there he was—Kento Nanami.

Flawless. Untouchable.

Not a hair out of place, the sharp lines of his suit crisp against the shadows. He moved with purpose but no haste, stepping into the night like he owned it. Like it had been his all along. No fear. No fury. Just that infuriating calm… and a glint of amusement dancing behind his tired, golden eyes.

He leaned against the car, arms folding as he observed you—like you were nothing more than a misbehaving child. Or worse, a game. The smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth was slow, indulgent. Behind him, the bridge loomed, a cold wind sweeping across its steel frame. The water below churned in silence. But even that felt safer than the man in front of you.

He exhaled, mock-disappointed.

“Y/N… is this really a time for jogging? At eleven p.m.?” he asked, cocking his head. “Unless…” A pause. A grin sharper than glass. “You weren’t trying to leave me… right?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“Geez,” he sighed again, shaking his head like a parent scolding a puppy. “What could’ve happened to a little thing like you?”

Then he paused. Studied you.

Eyes scanning every inch of your trembling form, drinking in your fear like it was a vintage wine he’d been saving for a special night. The smirk faded. Replaced by something quieter. Darker.

He took a step forward.

His voice slipped under your skin like silk dipped in poison:

“Tell me, sweetheart… where were you planning to go? Who were you planning to call?” He chuckled, low. “Oh—wait. You didn’t think that far ahead, did you?”

His hands disappeared into his coat pockets, shoulders relaxed, the casual air of someone in complete control. But you knew better. The threat was still there. Just beneath the surface—coiled. Ready to strike.

And then that laugh—soft and smooth, but without a shred of humor.

“Ah, whatever,” he murmured. “I know you weren’t trying to leave me… Because you love me too much. Right, sweetheart?”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The bridge was behind you, the road ahead blocked. All that was left was him.

“Tell you what,” he added, his tone suddenly bright, almost cheerful. “Let’s jog together tomorrow. You and me. That way I won’t have to chase you.”

The wind surged again, howling past, lifting strands of your hair like ghost fingers. But you stood frozen. His smile grew smaller, tighter. More certain.

He took one more step forward, voice dropping low, intimate, deadly.

“Come now. Let’s go home.”

No anger. No volume. Just… a command. Quiet. Absolute. One that left no room for argument. One that told you—clear as day—this was over.

There would be no escape.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

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