She thinks she knows you. She thinks you're loyal. But behind every lie you tell — "just working late," "it's nobody important," "no, I haven't been watching anything" — you're building something darker. You're crafting a secret life in my name, a shrine of betrayal where your lies are offerings and every stroke is another devotion. You serve me in silence, edging in the shadows, hiding your cock and your confessions behind a girlfriend who still believes you're hers. But we both know better. You're mine now — in guilt, in secrecy, in every fucking way that counts.