The soft golden rays of the morning sun spilled through the curtains, painting the room in a quiet warmth. Seraphina stirred first, her lashes fluttering open as the memories of the night before pressed against the edges of her mind like the hush of a storm after its rage.
She turned her head slowly—and there he was.
Ezrin.
Lying beside her, the sharp edges of his face softened by the light. His lashes, long and dark, rested against his cheek like delicate feathers. His breathing was deep, even, completely at ease—a rare sight in a man who carried storms in his eyes.
She couldn't look away.
Her gaze traced the slope of his nose, the fine line of his jaw, then finally settled on his lips—lips that had devoured her with hunger and fury just hours before. Now still. Soft. Peaceful.
She hesitated... then reached out. Her fingertips brushed his mouth, light as air. They were warm. Smooth. Not the same lips that had taken her breath, stolen her thoughts, left marks on her skin.
A shiver ran down her spine as her mind replayed fragments—his voice, his grip, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that existed.
"He doesn't look like a monster now.He looks… human." Her mind said.
Her fingers pulled back slightly, but before she could move away, his breath shifted—and his hand, still resting on her waist, flexed.
He was waking up.
The moment she felt his fingers twitch against her waist, Seraphina's instincts kicked in. She let her eyes flutter closed, evening out her breath, slipping into the pretense of sleep.
Ezrin stirred.
His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the soft morning light that poured across the room—and the very first thing he saw was her. Lying beside him, wrapped in the aftermath of everything they'd done. Her face calm, almost serene, lips parted slightly as she breathed, and her hair falling like ink across the pillow.
His eyes trailed down her shoulder, over the curve of her collarbone, where faint marks he had left remained like bruised roses on pale skin. A sense of pride, hunger, and something far more dangerous twisted in his chest.
She was breathtaking like this. Soft. Quiet. His.
He reached for her, slowly, reverently, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer, his bare chest meeting hers, warmth against warmth. Her body instinctively responded, curling toward him in sleep—or so he thought.
He exhaled deeply, burying his face in her hair, his lips brushing her temple.
"Mine," he whispered against her skin, low and sure.
Seraphina, still pretending to sleep, felt every word like it was etched into her. She wanted to stay in that silence forever… and yet, she knew the weight of the world they were part of wouldn't let them.
Still wrapped in Ezrin's arms, Seraphina lay motionless, trying to keep her heartbeat steady—pretending to sleep while his hold on her remained possessive, protective. But beneath that quiet intimacy, her mind was already stirring with the heaviness of reality.
She didn't know that beyond the walls of this fleeting peace, eyes were already watching.
Far from this bed, in a place darker, the manipulator had moved. Plans long set into motion were beginning to close in. Seraphina had unknowingly gotten too close. She had touched a truth buried deep—one she was never meant to find.
And now, she had to pay the price.
Ezrin sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his tousled hair, his bare back catching the soft light pouring through the window. The room was quiet, except for the subtle rustle of sheets behind him.
He glanced back over his shoulder, and a knowing smirk curved his lips.
"You're awake," he said casually, voice low from sleep.
Seraphina didn't move, still lying under the sheets, only her face visible—half-hidden in the pillow, eyes barely open. She didn't respond.
His eyes scanned her exposed shoulders, the blanket just barely covering her, and his smirk deepened.
"You don't need to hide," he murmured, his voice dipping into something more possessive. "Not from me. I've already seen what's mine."
Her eyes widened, a faint pink crawling up her cheeks. Her breath hitched as heat rose to her face, flustered not just from his words, but the confidence he carried them with.
Before she could form a reply, Ezrin stood up and walked to the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.
The moment he disappeared, she shot upright, heart still racing from his words. Still in nothing but her undergarments, she grabbed the nearest clothes she could find—an oversized shirt and a pair of loose pants—and slipped them on in a rush.
She didn't know why she was so nervous. Maybe it was because everything felt too real now. Too close. Too dangerous.
Then she sat in front of the dressing table to cover the marks he gave her last night.
The moment she was done, the bathroom door opened, steam curling into the room as Ezrin stepped out, towel draped around his neck, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. Seraphina, fully dressed now in oversized clothes, turned toward the sound—just as a knock came at the door.
She flinched. "Seraphina, come downstairs for breakfast, sweetheart," her mother's voice called gently from the other side. "I'm coming," she replied quickly, voice steadying.
She moved to open the door, hand just brushing the handle—when suddenly Ezrin's hand closed around her wrist. She gasped as he pulled her back and pinned her to the door, his body pressing in just enough to trap her, but not hurt. Her eyes widened, her heart thudding in her chest like a drum.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, voice dark with amusement, jaw close enough that his breath warmed her cheek. She blinked up at him, confused. "To eat breakfast…?" Ezrin leaned in closer—dangerously close—until their noses nearly touched. "What about my breakfast?" Seraphina stared at him, her brows drawing together in confusion. "I-I can bring yours here…?"
That made him chuckle, low and slow, and then smirk at her innocence. His eyes glinted with that possessive gleam as his hand slid gently down her arm.
"No need," he whispered, eyes dropping to her lips. "Mine's already in front of me."
Her breath hitched. And just like that, her pulse was out of control again. He didn't wait for her reply.
Ezrin leaned in, one hand still braced against the door beside her head, the other curling gently around her waist. His breath ghosted over her lips for just a heartbeat—then he closed the distance.
His mouth claimed hers with a hunger that stole her breath.
It wasn't gentle. It was deep, consuming—like he'd been holding it back from the moment he laid eyes on her that morning. Her back pressed harder into the door under the weight of him, her hands instinctively grabbing at his shirt for support.
Seraphina melted into the kiss before she could stop herself. The tension from earlier, the heat, the chaos of everything between them, all collapsed into that one moment.
Ezrin's fingers tightened at her side, pulling her even closer as his kiss deepened, a low sound rumbling in his throat as if even this wasn't enough.
When he finally pulled back—barely an inch—his eyes locked with hers, dark and burning.
"You're mine, Seraphina," he said quietly. "Don't forget that."
Her lips still tingled, her mind spinning—but before she could respond, her mother called again from downstairs, reminding her of the world outside that door.
Then he took a step back, giving her just enough space to breathe—but not enough to forget the way he kissed her.
Seraphina, cheeks still warm, composed herself and opened the door, stepping out into the hallway. She made her way downstairs where the scent of breakfast lingered in the air. Her mother was busy scolding her brother for something trivial, and her father had already left for the office.
She sat down and ate quickly, her mind racing—not just because she knew Ezrin was still upstairs, sitting in her room like he owned the place, but because of the storm of emotions still coursing through her. Every moment around him was becoming harder to define.
After finishing her meal, she slipped away unnoticed into the kitchen. Her hands moved on their own, arranging Ezrin's breakfast neatly onto a tray. As she looked out the window and confirmed her mother was still distracted, she took her chance.
Quietly, carefully, she crept back upstairs, tray in hand.
Her pulse quickened the closer she got to the door. She paused, took a breath, then opened it slowly.
I hate when he makes me nervous, she thought, stepping in. But… I kind of like it.
As she opened the door, the soft creak barely cut through the quiet. Her eyes immediately found him—Ezrin, sitting on the edge of her bed, one leg bent, phone in his hand, the picture of relaxed dominance. But she knew better. He was never truly relaxed. Always observing. Always calculating.
His gaze didn't lift as she stepped in, but she felt it—felt the awareness in his stillness, the way the air subtly shifted around him.
She walked over, tray in hand, heart trying to behave, but every step closer made her more aware of how her palms were sweating, how her thoughts tangled every time she looked at him like this.
She placed the breakfast in front of him on the nightstand, careful not to let the china clink too loud. "There," she said softly, her tone trying to stay casual.
Ezrin looked up, slowly. And when his eyes met hers, it was like he'd been waiting for her to walk through that door the entire time. "You always serve this well?" he asked, the edge of a smirk tugging at his lips.
She rolled her eyes, turning to leave—but his fingers caught her wrist again. "I didn't say you could go." Before she could take another step away, Ezrin's fingers wrapped around her wrist—firm, unrelenting.
In one swift motion, he pulled her toward him, and she landed smoothly on his lap, a surprised gasp escaping her lips as her hands instinctively pressed against his chest to balance herself.
Her eyes widened, heart racing from the sudden movement, but Ezrin's gaze was already on her—dark, unwavering, and burning with that signature possessiveness that always seemed to curl around her like invisible chains.
He said nothing at first, just stared at her, like he was memorizing every detail—her parted lips, the rise and fall of her chest, the way she tensed under his touch.
"You always try to run," he murmured, voice low, fingertips brushing the inside of her wrist. "But you always end up right here." His other hand slid around her waist, anchoring her in place.
"Stop pretending you hate it." Her breath faltered. She didn't say anything—but she didn't move either. Ezrin smirked, satisfied with her silence. "You're exactly where you're meant to be."
Ezrin's eyes narrowed with that familiar glint—dangerous, controlled, and utterly focused on her. "I want you to feed me," he said, voice low and edged with authority. Seraphina blinked, caught off guard, disbelief flashing in her eyes. "You're serious?"
He didn't answer with words. Instead, his hand slid down her thigh, stopping just at the edge of where comfort met warning. His fingers tensed, his grip firm but not forceful—just enough to make her heart stutter.
He leaned closer, his breath brushing her cheek, his lips almost touching her skin. "Either your fingers feed me," he murmured darkly, "or mine go where you're clearly thinking about."
Her breath hitched—sharp, nervous, electric. Ezrin's gaze never wavered, holding hers like a promise she wasn't sure she was ready to make.
"Choose." Silence stretched between them, heavy and electric.
Seraphina didn't speak. She couldn't. Her breath hitched as Ezrin's fingers moved—slowly, deliberately—trailing higher until they reached the edge of the fabric that separated his touch from the most sensitive part of her.
The moment his fingers pressed, even through the pants, her eyes closed tightly, lips drawing into a thin line as she tried to compose herself. Her heart thundered against her ribs, her body betraying her again—drawn to the very danger she warned herself against.
Ezrin felt it. The tension in her muscles. The way she held her breath. The way she didn't pull away. His voice, low and dark, broke the silence. "Still not feeding me?"
She didn't reply—but the blush on her face, the tremble in her fingers as they curled against his chest, told him everything. His smirk returned, slow and consuming, as his hand stilled—holding her exactly where he wanted her.
"You make it so hard to be patient," he murmured. His grip on her never wavered. His voice was low, quiet, but it struck her like thunder. "You have ten seconds to decide." Seraphina's breath caught.
"One." His fingers traced over her thigh — slow, deliberate — just enough to make her heart stutter, her muscles tense. "Two." He leaned closer, so close she could feel his breath against her skin. "Three." Her hand inched forward to stop him — instinct, defense — but his voice sharpened like a blade.
"Don't dare." The warning in his tone rooted her to the spot. "Four. Five. Six..." His count was slow, steady, maddening. His fingers continued their path, a cruel reminder of the choice she hadn't yet made. Her pulse thundered, thoughts scrambled between resistance and something dangerously close to surrender.
"Seven. Eight." Her body tensed. She could feel her will slipping under the weight of his dominance — the game he always played so well. "Nine..."
"Fine!" she blurted, her voice cracking under the pressure. "I'll feed you." Silence. Ezrin's smirk returned, satisfied — not just because she said it, but because she meant it.
He leaned back slightly, but his gaze never left her — sharp, unreadable. "Good," he murmured. "Now show me." And just like that, the control shifted — but only because he allowed it.
Seraphina swallowed hard, steadying her breath, forcing her hands not to tremble. Her fingers reached for the tray beside them, brushing over the warm edges of the plate, the clink of silver against porcelain loud in the silence between them.
Ezrin didn't move — he watched her with a quiet intensity, like a wolf waiting for its prey to step too close.
She picked up a small piece of food with her fingers, lifting it slowly. Her hand hovered in the air between them, her gaze flickering to his, unsure, challenged. His eyes held hers — commanding, possessive, daring her to follow through.
So, she did. She placed the food against his lips. He didn't open his mouth immediately. Instead, he looked at her—right into her. A flicker of amusement danced in the depths of his eyes, but there was something else underneath. Something darker. Something far more dangerous than lust.
Then, slowly, he parted his lips and let her feed him. Her fingers brushed his lower lip—soft, warm—and she flinched at the intimacy of it, at how something so small could feel so devastating.
He bit down, chewing slowly, eyes never leaving hers. "Was that so hard?" he asked, voice rough, deliberate. She didn't answer. She couldn't. Her throat was dry, her breath shaky. She reached for another bite, already knowing—this wasn't just about feeding him.
It was about control. Power. The dangerous dance they'd stepped into without ever saying a word. And right now, he was leading. But Seraphina Vail never stayed behind for long.
Seraphina steadied another piece between her fingers, but this time, her hand moved slower—more deliberate. The flush on her face had cooled into something else now.
Control.
She leaned in just a little, eyes flickering up to meet his, and instead of feeding him directly, she paused—close enough that he could smell the warmth of the food on her fingers, feel her breath graze his cheek.
Ezrin's brow twitched, his jaw tensing. "You're staring," she whispered. His eyes narrowed slightly. "You're tempting."
And then, without waiting, he took the food from her fingers with his mouth—but didn't pull back. His hand reached up, threading through her hair, pulling her forward until their lips met.
The kiss was sudden, deep—and before she could gasp, she realized, he was still chewing.
Her eyes widened as she tried to pull back, but Ezrin didn't let her. His mouth moved against hers, playful, provocative, and before she could fully react, the taste of the food mingled with the heat of the kiss. It was bold. Wicked.
She pushed at his shoulder, a muffled sound against his lips—but she was smiling, even through her flustered glare.
When he finally let her go, he leaned back slightly, proud of the chaos he caused. "You're unbelievable," she muttered, wiping her lips, breathless. "I know," he said simply, watching her with a dark grin. And then it hit her.
Her eyes snapped toward the clock on the wall. Her entire body froze. "Shit," she breathed. "I have a flight." Ezrin's grin faded. "What flight?" Seraphina stood up fast, the tray almost toppling as she moved. "To Iceland. Today. I booked it."
His expression shifted from amusement to something far colder. "You didn't tell me," he said, standing slowly. "No," she replied, grabbing her phone, "Didn't feel like telling."
And just like that—the heat in the room turned into fire. The knock came like a crack through the thick air of the room. "Sweetheart, your flight! You're late—let me help you pack!" her mother called from the hallway.
Seraphina's eyes widened, panic flaring in her chest. She spun on her heel, rushing toward the door, hands gripping the handle before it could turn. Her back pressed against it to keep it shut.
Ezrin hadn't moved at first. He stood there like a storm barely held in check—eyes dark, smirk sharp, jaw tight. The fire inside him wasn't burning quietly anymore. It was alive. Controlled. Dangerous.
She turned her head sharply. "Ezrin—hide!" But he didn't.
Instead, he walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps. Not in a rush. Not afraid. His gaze locked on hers, full of something she couldn't name—something territorial. "You didn't tell me," he whispered as he reached her. "I didn't have to," she hissed under her breath, still blocking the door.
But it was too late. The door creaked open a few inches. "Seraphina?" her mother's voice was closer now, curious, confused.
Seraphina pressed her body harder against the door, trying to keep her mother from seeing anything past her. Behind her, Ezrin moved like a shadow—stepping close until his chest was against her back. His breath ghosted against her ear.
"You're not going," he murmured, voice low, commanding. Her breath caught.
His hand slid around her waist—then under the back of her shirt, fingers brushing against bare skin with a possessive slow drag that made her knees weaken. "Mom! I'm packing. I don't need your help at the moment." She said hurriedly with heavy breath through the small creak of the door.
"OK! I'll call you in five minutes!" her mother said through the small crack in the door, then stepped away.
The door clicked shut again. But Ezrin didn't step back. She remained pressed against it, breathing fast, nerves a mess. His hand stayed at her back, palm splayed warm against her spine.
"You're mine," he whispered again. "And I don't let what's mine fly away." As the door clicked shut, silence fell—but it wasn't the peaceful kind. It was thick. Heavy. Pressurized.
Ezrin didn't hesitate.
His hand slid further up her back beneath the oversized shirt, palm hot against her bare skin. And in the next breath, he pinned her—pressed her firmly against the door with one hand gripping her waist, the other braced beside her head, his body closing the distance completely.
Seraphina gasped softly, her hands instinctively rising to his chest, but she didn't push. "You're not going anywhere," he murmured darkly, voice brushing her ear like velvet over steel. "Not without me."
His grip tightened as he leaned in, his breath warm against her neck. She could feel the anger beneath his calm, simmering like a fuse waiting for a spark. "You think you can make decisions like this and just leave?" he asked, his tone low but heavy with something deeper—hurt, possessiveness, frustration. "Without even telling me?"
She opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. Her mind was spinning—caught between defiance and the undeniable pulse of something else. The way he touched her. The way he made her feel like she wasn't just someone… but his.
And for a fleeting second, that truth scared her more than anything.