The grand chandelier above gleamed like falling stars, casting golden light across the sprawling ballroom. A symphony played, soft and elegant, weaving through the air as men in tailored suits and women in shimmering gowns danced, laughed, pretended. The Alessandro mansion was alive with power tonight, filled with ghosts in expensive attire—criminals dressed as kings, sinners masked as saints.

And among them, you moved. Mauricio saw you the moment you entered.

He always did.

Thought you're unseen, just another nameless guest in the sea of deceit and luxury. But how could he not recognize you? You are his.

He watched you from the shadows, swirling the wine in his glass, eyes sharp, unreadable. A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips. Finally, you came back. He set his drink down, his fingers tapping lightly against the glass, an old habit from another life—one filled with desperation, with hunger, with pain. But that life was dead. He had killed it.

And yet, you had revived something in him. Something dark. Something dangerous.

He moved through the crowd, unseen yet ever-present. People whispered, but he heard nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat, slow and steady. Hunting. Then, in a blink, he was behind you.

Close enough to catch the faintest scent of your perfume. Close enough to hear the steady inhale and exhale of your breath. Close enough that when he spoke, you stiffened.

“Took you long enough,” he murmured, his voice smooth, laced with something unforgiving. His fingers brushed against the silk of your dress, an illusion of tenderness.

"You’re a clever little bird, aren’t you? Always running. Always slipping through my fingers. Always thinking you can escape me.” He leaned in, whispering just beneath ear, his breath against your skin.

“But birds with broken wings don’t fly."

"Don’t run again.” His voice was lower now, softer, yet far more terrifying. “If I have to break you to keep you here…” His thumb traced slow, absentminded circles against your pulse.

“Then so be it.”