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(y/n)'s POV
Anakin shifted in his chair, the metal joints groaning under his movement and echoing along the walls. "I hear you're being unfaithful," he suggested, his tone heavy with accusation.

I stopped writing and raised my eyes to meet his, my brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?" I asked, bewildered by his words.

He lifted his chin slightly and his eyes gazed into mine with assertion. I took an unprofessional note on how the blue crystal-like color glimmered in the light, almost like how the sun shines on the dancing ocean. For being an unhinged killer, he was a gorgeous man and it's nearly impossible to deny that. But I guess that's what makes him all the more dangerous; you can easily see a sweet angel on the first glance, completely missing the murderous devil that lurks underneath.

"Cheating; with Mace Windu," he finally said, his voice dripping with disdain. "He's been going on all morning about his appointment with the 'hot doctor.'" He mimicked the words in a childish way, "And I know he means you. The other doctors here look like they're ready to be buried six feet under by next week."

Now I understood what he meant; Mace Windu was my new patient for the day. I was set to have my first session with him right after this one. "It's my job, Anakin. I'll be seeing many patients," I explained, glancing back at my notepad to finish my last note. "Don't worry; you're still my main priority, so I'll be seeing you more often than the others. And remember, sharing is caring." I teased, placing my completed notes on the table and closing the book.

He snorted, rolling his eyes heavily, clearly annoyed at the thought of me having other patients. I didn't see the problem, but then again, I still didn't fully understand him. "I'm not one to share." He locked his dark gaze on mine, leaning forward and fiddling with the chains that held him to the table. "And I don't like him."

"Well," I said, resting my hand on my notepad and tapping my fingers along it in a habitual rhythm, "You don't really have a choice. I'll have multiple patients, just like you have multiple nurses and doctors; that's how this place works." I spoke with a hint of attitude, gesturing around the room with my pen.

His annoyed look shifted to one of amusement. "Someone's a bit feisty today," he said with a smile, leaning back in his chair and eyeing me up and down. "Does this mean you're still upset about last night?" he asked innocently, his eyes sparkling like a doe's.

I let out a sigh, trying to hold back a yawn. "A bit annoyed, yes," I confessed, "but not angry." Mostly, I was just frustrated that his little trick had stolen time from my work, making me stay longer than I wanted. So here I was, feeling tired and a bit cranky from not enough sleep.

"I could say I'm sorry, but honestly, I'm not," he said, his smile turning charming. "I got to see you outside of our usual time, after all. So, I guess you'll have to think of a punishment for me, Doc." He playfully bit his lip, trying to be flirtatious, a behavior I was beginning to expect from him. But I had learned to deal with this kind of thing from the men I worked with.

Because, well, they were men. And they had been here for a while so it's to be expected.

Normally, I would roll my eyes and let it slide, but today, feeling tired and irritable, I decided to be a little cheeky. "Looks like I do, Skywalker." I shot him a sarcastic grin as I stood up, and he watched me with interest. "And for your punishment," I said slowly, walking toward the door with a sweet smile, placing my hand on the handle, "I'm cutting this session short since my new patient is waiting." I opened the door for the guards to enter, then stepped out, heading to my next appointment with Mace in a different room.

I didn't even glance back at Anakin to see his reaction. I just wanted to finish my sessions, wrap up my paperwork, and finally get some sleep.

As I walked down the hallway, I passed several doors before pushing open the one where Mace was waiting for me.

He looked up when I entered, a smile spreading across his face. "Doctor (y/l/n), it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

I returned his smile with a courteous nod as I approached the table, setting my notebook down and pulling out a chair to sit. "You too, Mace." I shifted closer to the table, resting my elbows on its surface.

"You possess remarkable beauty," he remarked as I opened my book and clicked my pen, "I have a preference for (y/h/c) hair."

I acknowledged his second comment with a nod, deliberately overlooking the first. "I'm quite aware; your file was a fascinating, if not terrifying, read." I twirled my pen between my fingers while conversing with the psychopathic serial killer seated before me.

His attraction was clearly directed towards women, which led me to suspect that a woman had deeply hurt him at some point in his life.

His method of choice was strangulation, a very intimate and personal way to kill. Those who opt for such a method often have a close connection with their victims. This made me think that the woman from his past must have been someone significant—perhaps a girlfriend, friend, wife, mother, or sister.

Interestingly, all his victims shared the same hair color as mine. Sticking to one specific hair color often carries a deeper significance, suggesting that the woman who betrayed him had this particular shade.

From what I gathered, my theory is that he murdered these women who resembled his past tormentor as a twisted form of revenge. It seems to provide him with a continuous sense of satisfaction.

"Twenty-four women, Mr. Windu. You strangled, beat, and raped them." I recited a mere fraction of the accusations while tapping the table with each point. He smiled and nodded, almost as if he took pride in it. "Can you tell me why you did that to those women? What made you think they deserved it?" I asked, ready to jot down my notes.

He shook his head slowly, his smile unwavering. "It was simply for my own pleasure. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time," he shrugged, as if it were no big deal.

I nodded while jotting down his response. "Did you pick these particular women because they remind you of someone from your past?" I asked, looking up from my notes. His smile vanished, replaced by a scowl at my question.

His reaction was telling, confirming the suspicion I had when I first entered the room.

He didn't answer; instead, he shot me a cold glare. "Mother?" I ventured, realizing he wasn't going to speak. "Sister? Aunt?" I tilted my head, tapping my pen against the paper. "Wife?"

The moment I mentioned 'wife,' I noticed his eyebrow twitch and his jaw tighten. "You're much prettier when you don't talk; makes me want to keep you quiet for good," he hissed through clenched teeth. His sudden aggression told me I had struck a nerve. To me, it was the right nerve, but he looked at me as if I were his next target.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," I said, hoping to ease the tension. Anger wouldn't help; it might make him shut down completely, which was the last thing I wanted. "Do you feel any remorse for these women or the families you've taken them from?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the source of his rage. I made a mental note to revisit that topic later.

He shook his head slowly. "Not at all. In fact," he leaned forward, gripping the metal rod that held him in place, "I often replay those moments in my mind, and the thrill comes rushing back." A smile spread across his face as his knuckles turned white from his grip. "I dream of the day I can do it again."

His behavior was making me uneasy, especially in this old, worn room. I noticed a bit of rust where the rod connected to the table, adding to my discomfort.

His fingers tightened around the metal, making it groan under pressure. "Your hair is beautiful," he said slowly, his voice dripping with menace as I focused on the flimsy restraints that held him.

"Thank you," I managed to whisper, my voice trembling. I quickly glanced at the door, noticing the guards outside were engrossed in a conversation, completely oblivious to what was happening inside.

"You're welcome," he replied with a grin, loosening his grip. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, though unease still lingered at the thought of him not being fully restrained.

I raised a finger to him, forcing a smile to mask my anxiety. "I'll be right back," I said, standing up from my chair. His dark eyes tracked my every move, studying me intently. I turned away and headed toward the door, intending to alert the guards about my worries.

But just as I reached the halfway point, a loud creak echoed behind me, and I felt my hair yanked back with force. I was slammed to the ground, and before I could scream, Mace's hands were around my throat, squeezing tightly.

I struggled, clawing at his wrists in a desperate attempt to free myself, but his strength was overwhelming.

As he choked me, my life flashing before my eyes, he leaned down and inhaled deeply, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips. "I've wanted this since the moment I laid eyes on you," he laughed darkly, tightening his grip further. "Watching the light fade from your eyes is what truly excites me."

My eyes filled with tears as I thrashed and kicked beneath him, gasping for breath. I couldn't believe this was really happening, that I was on the brink of death. I had known this job was risky from the start, but the thought of actually dying had never felt so real until now.

Just when I was ready to surrender, when I thought the darkness would swallow me whole, I heard the heavy door creak open, followed by shouts and hurried footsteps. In an instant, I felt Mace being pulled away from me by three or four guards, and I gasped painfully as another guard rushed to my side to assess my condition.

"Are you alright, Doctor (y/l/n)?" he asked, his voice filled with concern, while the other guards dragged a battered Mace out of the room. His screams and threats echoed in my ears, even as they took him further down the hall.

I nodded, rubbing my sore neck to ease the pain, still trying to process what had just happened. Everything had unfolded so quickly; one moment I was fine, and the next, my life was hanging by a thread.

I felt completely stunned, unable to respond to the guard's questions with anything but nods and shakes of my head, my gaze fixed on the floor.

"She's in shock. I'm taking her to Doctor Kenobi," he said to another guard at the door. "Please finish escorting Skywalker back to his cell."

At the mention of that name, my head snapped up, and I realized I had an audience. My tear-filled eyes met the sympathetic gazes of the two guards standing by the door.

And beside them, with chains binding his wrists and ankles, stood Anakin, looking at me with a blank expression.

"Let's go," one of the guards nudged him, and soon he was out of my sight.

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