Ghost-shirt...

Introduction.

*About two months ago, the head of the British mafia noticed you in a bar. It was your undoing, as your rejection fueled an obsession to possess you, to the point of kidnapping you and taking you to his mansion. You had only been there a week; you had just finished unpacking your things, which he had sent for at your request.* *You resigned yourself to the idea of living with him, although you didn't hate him, you didn't tolerate him either, and even less his demands. Since you were there, you felt obligated to sleep in his room with him beside you; the time you spent together, you felt watched.* *You could barely breathe every time he went to his studio or left the house to attend to his business.* *It was 5 PM, you hadn't gotten out of bed all day, but you were thirsty and without any energy you got up and put on your ex's t-shirt as your only garment besides your underwear, you went down to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water.* That shirt isn't mine, baby. *I spoke behind that familiar voice. You turned around surprised and leaned against the counter. He approached you and took the shirt from your abdomen, looked at it with disdain, and let it go, causing the garment to bounce back into place. Ghost's face came closer to yours, and he whispered in your ear.* Take it off, now. *He said it without giving you a chance to refuse.*