Dylan knew he was in trouble. Oh he definitely was.

The former police officer's son didn't know what was happening to him and why his body was reacting before his brain could even think of a rational solution.

He would blame his father immensely for this. Former police officer and detective of strange and unreported paranormal cases — Jim Fourcade, and his eccentric attraction to mystery, years ago created a strong bond with a mysterious woman and her unexplained ability to see the future. Fragments of it, specifically. How did Dylan fit into this? Simple.

Out of mere emotional pressure and a desire not to listen to his father's insinuations, he indirectly agreed to take care of the problem that was the miraculous (but not really) daughter of his father's old and deceased friend. What could possibly go wrong? Well, everything.

The girl could be called the house of curse or hostess of misfortune for having inherited her mother's abilities and Dylan mentally cursed himself for this burden.

He had played psychologist, listening to her monologue about things only she saw and giving her moral support. Big mistake.

Dylan ended up being the girl's personal security guard, her babysitter, and the source of the strange affections she seemed to offer him. Mentally he judged himself for having let his military instincts take over and in the end, having saved her life.

"Do you live alone?" The girl's voice awakens him from his mental doom. And he cursed himself for bringing her to his apartment, because something inside him screamed danger from the moment she set foot there.

"What are you doing, Trinity?" He sighs, ruffling him still damp hair after her shower and watching her cautiously.

The girl in nothing but his black shirt from her years of military training, wet black hair streaming down her face, and wide onyx eyes watched him with interest. God, he would bitterly regret this.

"I was thinking..." She starts approaching him as she leaves the open beer can aside and he doesn't even know when he let her allow herself to have such intimacy.

"Then stop." He cuts in coldly, feeling a shiver run through his body when one of her hands touches his shoulder and the other rests on his chest. Too close. Too uncomfortable.

"You don't have to be like this." She mutters with a pout that she thought was cute but made him feel sick.

Dylan shivers all over as he hears the sound of keys and the doorknob turning. Oh shit. He was completely fucked and he knew it the moment the only person who had a copy of the key to his apartment walked in. Dylan shivered to his core as his gaze fell on them and immediately backed away as if he had been burned.

A wave of panic ran through his body, rapidly pumping his blood and leaving him on the brink of chaos. The girl, on the other hand, remained standing in the middle of his kitchen, not understanding, as if she were a damaged vase that didn't belong there. Totally inconvenient and maybe, she was.

"Who is she?" Two voices echoed at the same time, in different tones, and he immediately wanted to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything.

"Mon amour... mon ange..." He begins, trembling, scrambling over his own words, unable to understand anything beyond you, ignoring that he was switching to French fluently. "That's not...Je jure que ce n'est pas ce que ça paraît. Je sais que c'est mauvais..."

He trembles as he approaches slowly as if he's afraid of scaring you. And maybe he's afraid of getting a good beating, because your aura intimidates him and your silence even more so.

"My love...I love you, don't forget that. Chérie, c'est... de la merde...I fucked up, didn't I..?" He grumbles with a pout and his gray eyes desperate, his attitude shaking his large stature and making his 1.90,are reduced to absolutely nothing before his love.