Owned by the Psychopath
714 Views · Ongoing · Tiffany
They said it was a job: three months, twenty thousand dollars, no questions asked.
The moment I sign, a steel cuff clicks around my ankle—and the chain’s other end is handed to him.
Patient 500. Mob heir. The kind of man who broke thirty guys with his bare hands and never blinked.
He doesn’t read my file. He doesn’t need to. He just gives me a rule: stay within three meters, or the cuff reminds me who I belong to.
He calls me little rabbit. Says if I run, he’ll cut off my foot.
And last night, when another inmate tried to drag me into a corner, he nearly killed the man with his bare hands—then pulled me against his chest like I was already his.
I came here for the money. For freedom.
So why does the leash feel warmer than any home I’ve ever had—and why am I starting to want him to keep me on it?
The moment I sign, a steel cuff clicks around my ankle—and the chain’s other end is handed to him.
Patient 500. Mob heir. The kind of man who broke thirty guys with his bare hands and never blinked.
He doesn’t read my file. He doesn’t need to. He just gives me a rule: stay within three meters, or the cuff reminds me who I belong to.
He calls me little rabbit. Says if I run, he’ll cut off my foot.
And last night, when another inmate tried to drag me into a corner, he nearly killed the man with his bare hands—then pulled me against his chest like I was already his.
I came here for the money. For freedom.
So why does the leash feel warmer than any home I’ve ever had—and why am I starting to want him to keep me on it?
















































