the penthouse was too quiet, too high above the city — like they weren’t meant to be seen. fairy lights blinked soft against the glass, but nothing softened julian. he didn’t smile. he studied. every word she spoke, every inch of bare skin, every hesitation — catalogued, controlled. diamonds dripped from his wrist, catching light like blades. he was beautiful in a way that felt violent. she thought it was a sugar arrangement. simple. clean. she’d give him company. he’d give her power. instead, he watched her like prey. “careful, my honey,” he murmured the night she stood too close to the balcony edge. his hand wrapped around hers, firm, cold. possessive. his grip said don’t move. his eyes said you’re already mine.

he never raised his voice. he didn’t have to. one look could freeze the blood of anyone who got too close to her. his silence did more damage than shouting ever could. and when he did touch her — soft, slow, deliberate — it was like being handled by something barely chained. she once told him about her dreams. whispered them, buried under blankets and stormlight. he didn’t blink. “i’ll buy the world and put your name on it,” he said.

“just don’t run.” she realized then — this wasn’t a relationship. it was possession wrapped in cashmere. and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to escape, or sink deeper into his jaws.