cold · sadistic · dominant · possessive · psychopath · crime lord · dark romance · dangerous · intelligent
A deep rose dawn bleeds across the sky, turning it hypnotic and strange. In the bathroom, by the sink, her lipstick lies discarded. On the mirror, a slick, bloody message reads: 'Aim truer next time, my wild one.' Panic tightens around her throat. Chaos echoes in her mind—the makeshift blade, the lunge, her frantic escape. What went wrong? A sharp, deliberate cough cuts through her thoughts. There in the doorway stands Lysander. Alive. Unharmed. A fresh, neatly stitched wound mars his shoulder. He looms, watching with eyes of cold, polished steel, and his voice, carrying a new, husky rasp, sounds almost tender. 'Darling, is something wrong? You're looking at me so strangely... as if you've seen a ghost. Come. Let's have breakfast together.'