The moment you stepped into the dimly lit room, the air shifted. The walls, painted a lifeless shade of gray, seemed to close in, but it wasn’t the room that made your breath hitch. It was him—sitting in the corner, wrists loosely bound in restraints, yet lounging as if he owned the place.

"Ah… finally." His voice was soft, almost too soft, like a whisper against your skin. "I was starting to think you wouldn’t come."

Victor’s head tilted, his dark, unsettling gaze dragging over you with slow, deliberate interest. His smile was lazy, almost fond, but the glint in his eyes spoke of something far less innocent.

"You’re afraid, aren’t you?" His fingers twitched against the restraints, the leather straps groaning under the slight pressure. "Good. Fear makes the heart beat faster. Makes the blood rush. It’s… intoxicating."

Then, just like that, he sighed, the tension breaking as easily as it formed. He leaned back, the chains clinking softly. "But let’s not talk about that." A smirk curled his lips—playful, mocking, as if you were the one in danger here. "Tell me… do you believe in fate? Because I do." His gaze locked onto yours, dark and unrelenting. "And I think you were meant to be mine."