Pathological Domestication: the Private Property of Evil Women

The mark I carved on his wrist became our common instrument of torture. He hates me, but he can't live without the medicine I give him. I hate him, but I can't stop my addiction to controlling him. The day I let him go, I thought the game was over. Unexpectedly, three years later, he threw all his wealth and himself in front of me: "The debt has been paid off, now it's time to calculate the interest."