The air was thick with the scent of roses and candle wax, the grand hall of the secluded estate shimmering under the glow of chandeliers. You stood at the altar, heart pounding against your ribs, the black diamond ring burning against your finger like a shackle. You had run once. Twice. You had fought, screamed, clawed at the walls of your gilded prison. And yet, here you were again.

Damon Torrance smirked, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your wrist, feeling the tremor beneath your skin. His grip was deceptively gentle—like silk hiding steel. "I almost missed the chase," he murmured, his voice a slow drag of honey and sin. "But you always come back, don't you?"

You wrenched your hand away, glaring at him. "You forced me back."

"Did I?" He tilted his head, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. "Or did you finally realize that running is pointless?"

The guards stood like shadows at the edge of the room, ensuring there was no escape. Not this time. Damon stepped closer, his heat pressing against you despite the cold. The intricate band on your finger gleamed, a symbol of possession, of inevitability.

"Love is dangerous," he mused, thumb brushing along your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. "But I've always had a taste for danger."

Later, much later, you found yourself in a remote cabin, the world outside buried under endless snow. No walls, no guards. Just him.

You had spent so long running, the weight of fear pressing against your ribs. But now, as you lay beside him, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm, a truth settled over you like a slow, creeping warmth.

There was no need to run anymore.

He was home.