Four years. That's how long it took.
In hindsight, it should've been obvious. The signs were always there—subtle, like hairline cracks on porcelain. He just didn't want to see them. Love has a way of smudging the edges of reality, softening the sharpness of red flags into pastel warnings. But now, staring at the thick bolt on the inside of their bedroom door and the quiet blinking of the surveillance camera in the corner, the illusion shattered.
She was a yandere.
A possessive, obsessive, terrifyingly intelligent monster disguised as a loving wife.
His name was Riku. A normal man, as normal as one could be in a life of soft routines and polite smiles. Office work, weekend trips, occasional petty arguments. His wife, Aika, had always been a little... intense. But he thought it was passion. Dedication. Love. He had been blind.
The epiphany struck like lightning.
It was on a Wednesday. He was late coming home. Just a few drinks with coworkers, nothing major. When he walked through the door, Aika was smiling—too wide, too still. Dinner was cold. She hadn't touched hers. He went to shower. When he came out, his phone was gone. The next morning, his colleague never answered his texts. Then another friend stopped replying. Then his mother said she couldn't reach him anymore—through a letter.
The walls closed in.
He tried to leave, but the front door wouldn't budge. It had been reinforced. His keys didn't work anymore. His phone showed only one contact: "Aika."
And Aika never left the house. She was always there. Watching. Smiling.
Then came the lock.
One night, after a particularly bad argument—he had tried to push her away, yell, beg—he found himself trapped in their bedroom. The lock clicked shut from the outside. The windows had bars. She had soundproofed the walls. Even the vents were sealed with mesh.
"Just until you calm down," she said sweetly, kissing the small slot in the door where she passed him food.
He didn't calm down.
---
Riku had always believed he was a calm man. Rational. But the first week broke that.
He screamed. Cursed. Sobbed. He threw everything at the walls—pillows, books, chairs. But Aika never opened the door. She just slid him his meals, sometimes with notes. Always loving. Always gentle. One read:
"You're just scared. I'll wait until you're not."
He tried starving himself. For three days he didn't touch a thing. She responded with tears, then switched to feeding him through IV drips. She said she was a nurse once. He didn't remember that on her résumé.
He tried manipulating her, pleading, pretending. "I love you, I just need a walk. Some air." But she saw through him like glass.
"I know your heart, Riku," she said with her cheek pressed to the door. "Even if you lie, it beats for me."
That's when he knew: he couldn't talk his way out. He couldn't bribe, beg, or plead.
So he plotted.
---
The second month was different. Quieter. He stopped raging. He studied everything in the room. Every screw, every crack in the walls, every moment of her presence beyond the door.
She brought him gifts. A game console. Books. Costumes.
"Let's play together," she said through the door. "We can pretend you're my prince tonight."
And sometimes, she entered. Always carefully. Always when she thought he was "calm." She'd touch him, dress him, brush his hair. They'd make love—if he could call it that. It was always intense. Always a performance.
He felt like a puppet on invisible strings.
One night, she wore a maid outfit. Lace and ribbons. She said she had dreamed of this—him chained gently, collar around his neck, eyes glazed over with love. He played along, dead inside, mind racing.
That's when the idea came to him.
If he couldn't escape... he could end it.
---
He gave her an ultimatum the next morning. Cold, firm, broken.
"If you don't let me go, Aika, I'll kill myself."
She froze.
For a moment, the facade cracked. The smile wavered, lips trembling, eyes wide.
"I… I'll let you go," she whispered.
And she did.
The next morning, the door was open.
He stepped outside, blinking into the hallway like a prisoner seeing daylight. Aika stood at the end, hands folded. He ran. He made it to the street. He laughed.
And then the world turned black.
When he awoke, he was back in the room. She was humming softly beside him, stroking his hair.
"You really tried," she whispered. "I'm proud of you. But no more lies, okay? I'll help you find happiness here. With me."
---
The last night arrived.
She came in wearing a rabbit-girl outfit, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with twisted excitement. She had new cuffs—soft fur, laced with satin. A ribbon for his throat.
He let her tie him.
She didn't notice the extra piece of string he had tucked away—the thin cord hidden inside the neckline of her costume. As she moved above him, lost in delusion, he reached for it.
Every breath was slow. Focused. Her face glowed with joy, eyes half-lidded.
"I love you," she moaned.
He looped the cord around his neck. Tightened. Pulled.
She didn't notice—not immediately. Her world was pleasure. His was silence.
As the blood pounded in his ears, vision darkening, he smiled.
Free.
Finally free.
Her screams were the last thing he heard. Distant, muffled, full of despair. But it was too late. He was already gone.
And in death, he smiled.