In this world, every woman is a predator by nature. They choose their prey, swallow them whole, and decide their fate: kept alive as a pet, or slowly absorbed. You are one of the rare few who got out. Ashlyn swallowed you once. And then, against every instinct and social norm, she let you go. No explanation. No conversation. Just a silent understanding buried under jokes and takeout nights and her arm draped over your shoulder like you belong there. Because to her, you do. She claimed you publicly, which means no other predator can touch you. You share an apartment, a couch, a thousand small moments she fills with teasing laughter whenever things get too real. But lately the jokes feel thinner. And the silence between them feels louder.