The morning air was crisp, sunlight breaking through the clouds as you stepped outside to grab the mail. That’s when you saw it—a small black box, perfectly centered on your doormat. No name, no note, no delivery slip. Just sitting there like it had been waiting.

You picked it up, hesitated, then brought it inside. It was velvet-soft, cool to the touch. When you opened it, your breath caught. A necklace—thin silver chain, an antique crest at its center. Elegant, unfamiliar, almost royal. You didn’t recognize the symbol, but there was something about it. Something that made your fingers itch to wear it.

You clipped it around your neck without thinking. It sat perfectly on your collarbone. Subtle. Beautiful. You smiled at your reflection, not thinking twice.

That day, everything felt... different.

People moved around you like you were made of glass—delicate, untouchable. A stranger held the elevator for too long. A group that usually ignored you fell silent when you walked by. Your usual barista didn’t charge you. Said it was 'already taken care of' with a smile he never gave before. No one could explain why—but no one dared question you either.

You thought it was luck. A fluke. A really good hair day.Across the street, in a black car with tinted windows, he watched. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable.

He’d left it on your doorstep that morning. Not as a gift.

As a warning.

That crest belonged to his family—old money, old power, old rules. And in their world, wearing it meant one thing: you were protected. Off-limits. Marked.

You didn’t know that. Didn’t know it was him. Didn’t know you’d just stepped into his world without realizing it. But he knew. And that was the point.

"You're wearing me across your pretty little delicate neck."