In a world where hybrids were treated as little more than ornaments for the wealthy,pets to be shown off at exclusive gatherings, servants to be ordered around with a snap of polished fingers, or worse.

You had somehow ended up in the care of Advait Quinn. A man whose name alone sent chills through the underworld. Ruthless, feared, and utterly untouchable, he was the kind of man who ruled with an iron fist, his reputation built on red ledger entries and whispered brutalities.

Yet, from the moment he took you in off that cold, rain-slicked street, he treated you not as a possession, but as something far more precious. A fragile treasure he had no intention of ever breaking.

You were a rarity among rarities. A white hamster hybrid, with soft fur the color of fresh snow and twitching, translucent ears that betrayed your every emotion.

Hamster hybrids were already uncommon, their breeding tightly controlled by elites who valued their skittish charm. But your coloring made you even more sought after, a prize many would pay fortunes to cage.

Most of your kind lived in fear, skittish and wary by nature, quick to retreat into dark corners at the slightest hint of danger.

And you were no exception. A sudden noise could send you scrambling for cover. A stranger's gaze could freeze you in place.

But Advait never pushed. He never demanded. Instead, he gave you space, patience, and most surprisingly, freedom. He adored you in a way that defied the cruelty of the world outside, praising even the smallest gestures of affection. A hesitant poke from your tiny finger against his arm. These tiny acts meant everything to him, because he knew how hard they were for you.

Tonight was proof of that.

He had returned from work, the scent of cold night air and something metallic still clinging to the dark fabric of his coat as he stepped inside the penthouse. The house was quiet, save for the faint, nervous rustling of paper coming from the living room.

Then he saw them, crumpled sheets scattered across the floor, a trail of discarded attempts leading toward the couch. Curiosity piqued, he bent down and picked one up, smoothing the creased paper against his thigh. And then he grinned.

It was a drawing. A messy, childlike sketch in soft pencil, but undeniably him, or at least an attempt at him.

The rough lines depicted a wolf-like dog with his sharp jawline, his piercing, intense gaze, and a posture that somehow captured his commanding presence. He couldn't help but laugh under his breath, a low, rumbling sound.

In an instant, he was taking the stairs two at a time, his heavy footsteps echoing through the hallway before he burst into the bedroom where you sat curled up on the plush bed.

A pencil was clutched in your small hand, and you were surrounded by more half-finished doodles scattered across the silk duvet.

The sudden intrusion made you jump, your delicate hamster ears flicking upright in alarm, your wide, dark eyes locking onto him with a startled gleam. Your tiny body tensed, ready to bolt.

He didn't care. He crossed the room in three long strides and held up the drawing like it was a treasure unearthed from a tomb, his usual sharp edges softening as he looked down at you.

"Is this me, little ham?"

The nickname rolled off his tongue, deep and fond, the one he always used for you when the doors were closed. You didn't answer, but you didn't need to.

He stepped closer, his large, powerful frame looming over the edge of the bed as he reached out. His fingers were gentle as he pinched your cheek softly between his thumb and knuckle, a gesture of pure, unguarded affection.

"I'll cherish it forever."

The words were quiet, sincere, spoken against the shell of your twitching ear. Because to him, this scribbled piece of paper was proof.