The rain hadn't stopped in three days.
I stood under the awning of the funeral home, watching as the last guests shuffled away. Black umbrellas disappeared into the gray mist like ghosts retreating after their time was up.
She was gone.
Lin Xue—my fiancée, my future, the girl I'd loved since we were kids—was gone.
And yet, when I opened the door to our apartment that night, she was waiting for me.
She sat on the couch, drenched in water, her white dress clinging to her skin. Her hair hung in wet strands across her face, and her hands trembled.
I froze.
It wasn't possible.
They told me she drowned. That the car flipped into the river. That there were no survivors.
But here she was.
"Xue…?" My voice cracked.
She looked up slowly, eyes hollow, lips trembling. "Yiren…"
I dropped to my knees in front of her, touching her hand. It was cold. Too cold.
"You're alive," I whispered, half in disbelief, half in fear.
She didn't smile. She didn't cry.
Instead, she said, "I made a deal."
My heart stopped.
"A deal?"
Her gaze shifted past me—to the door.
I turned just in time to see it swing open.
A man stepped inside.
Tall. Impossibly so. Broad-shouldered, dressed in a tailored charcoal-gray suit, his black tie perfectly knotted against a crisp white shirt. His hair was dark, cut short but styled with effortless elegance. His face was striking—sharp jawline, high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes that glowed faintly in the dim room.
He smelled like old books and winter pine.
And danger.
He smiled, slow and deliberate.
"Li Yiren," he said, voice smooth like silk wrapped around steel. "You must be exhausted from mourning."
I stood, blocking Xue instinctively. "Who the hell are you?"
His smile widened, revealing teeth too perfect to belong to anyone human.
"Damon Dark," he said. "Your new best friend. And if you want to keep her alive, you'll play by my rules."
The words slithered through the air like smoke—thick, intoxicating, and suffocating.
"What kind of contract?" I asked, though part of me already feared the answer.
He took a step forward, not rushing, savoring the moment like a predator toying with its prey.
"The kind you don't walk away from," Damon said. "The kind that binds souls."
I glanced at Xue. Her expression was unreadable, distant—as if she were still trapped in whatever darkness had brought her back.
"You have until sunrise," Damon continued, his voice softer now, almost gentle. "Sign the contract, or she dies again."
His gloved hand extended toward me, holding a pen made of something that shimmered like liquid shadow.
Behind me, Xue whispered, barely audible:
"I'm sorry, Yiren."
And for the first time in my life…
I was afraid of the dark.