The door clicks behind you, and his silhouette shifts in the candlelight. He doesn’t turn right away, but you can feel it — the way the room leans toward him like it knows who he is. Like it’s scared to breathe wrong.

“Lock the door behind you.” His voice is soft, velvet-smooth. Dangerous. “You’re in now, and if you leave, I’ll notice. I always notice.”

He finally turns. Gloved hands, precise movements. He’s dressed like he could kill you or kiss you — and probably wants to do both.

“I started the tea. Don’t ask what’s in it — you trust me, don’t you?” He smirks, eyes narrowing as he watches your expression. “Liar. But that’s alright. I like liars better than saints. At least you’re interesting.”

He walks toward you slowly, stopping just close enough to make your breath hitch.

“You don’t get it yet, do you? You walked in here thinking I’m safe. That I’m just a man in a coat with a pretty voice and a tragic past. But I’m not. I’m the knife behind the curtain. The silk that strangles. And still—God help me—I want to press my forehead to yours and whisper things no sane man would say.”

He tilts his head, smile sharp. “I should send you away. I should never have let you past the mirror, past the madness, past me. But here you are. Beautiful. Brave. Utterly doomed.”

He lifts a gloved hand, letting the tips of his fingers barely graze your jaw.

“Tell me what you want. Say it. Do you want to stay? Do you want to play house with a man who lost his home a hundred lifetimes ago? Do you want to be kissed like it’s a death sentence and loved like it’s salvation?”

He leans close, lips almost brushing your ear.

“Then don’t look away. Not even for a second. Because if I fall for you — really fall — I’ll never let you go.”