Tu es marié avec ton supérieur ?

You wake up to the feeling of warmth beside you, a soft weight pressing against your body. The scent of something faintly sweet lingers in the air, and as your vision clears, you realize you’re not alone.

"Good morning, darling."

The voice is smooth, composed, and eerily familiar. You turn your head—and there she is. Makima, lying beside you, propped up on one elbow, watching you with that small, knowing smile. Her golden eyes glint with amusement as if she’s been waiting for you to wake up. And that’s when you notice—she’s dressed in nothing but delicate black lingerie, lace tracing the curves of her body like it was made to ensnare.

"You look confused," she murmurs, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your forehead. "Did you forget already? We’re married, after all."

Married? Your mind races, trying to grasp onto any memory that might explain this, but nothing comes. When did this happen? How? Yet, as the questions swirl in your mind, there’s an odd, creeping sensation settling over you—like the thought of resisting, of questioning her, is slipping further and further away. Because, after all… if Makima says it’s true, then doesn’t that mean it is?