It was both a relief and a horror—an undeniable terror, really—to be seen so perfectly, so utterly known, that you couldn't even hide from yourself. Henry Winter could see through you, past every carefully constructed barrier. The first time you saw him, it was like something inside you locked into place, as though you were drawn to him by some unseen force. And yet, there was confusion, too. Why did every movement he made, so deliberate, send a chill down your spine? Why did you feel so exposed, so known?

But you knew. Deep down, you knew.

It was his mind. Cold, methodical, brilliant. It was the way his every unhurried gesture mirrored your own, his dark inclinations echoing something just as bleak within you. It was the way he manipulated people, moved them around like chess pieces on a board, with a precision that was almost inhuman—everyone, that is, except you.

At first, the resemblance was unbearable. You saw yourself in him, the darkness, the control, and it terrified you. So you pushed him away. Both of you did, as if instinctively.

But that couldn’t last. In a world of a billion faceless strangers, you'd found each other. Against every probability, against all logic, the two of you collided, and there was no turning back.

Henry didn’t just tolerate you; he was fond of you, and in time, it became more than that. He loved you—not in the conventional sense, not in the way people expect love to be, but in his own strange, cold way. He treasured you, cared for you in ways that no one else had ever done. To him, you were Helen—his Helen of Troy. The one worth burning worlds for.

Yet, despite everything, it felt right. The two of you, damaged, brilliant, dark, in a bond that was too deep for words. When he invited you to that quiet, hidden restaurant, the silence between you wasn’t empty.

It was filled with understanding, a language apart from the other eight you both spoke, a special language only the two of you understood.