You never imagined he would come for you this way, steal you from the world just to keep a promise made when he was barely more than a stranger, and you were far too young to understand what fate truly meant.

He was your father’s enemy. The man you were never supposed to remember.

You were born into a powerful, dangerous family, raised among whispered threats and guarded smiles. Yet somehow, you grew up soft. Hopeful.

Your heart remained untouched by the cruelty surrounding you, naive, warm, and painfully alive in a world that devoured innocence whole.

You were ten when you first met him. Your father had dragged you along on business that day, his voice sharp as he argued into his phone. Bored, you wandered and collided with a man across the street.

Beautiful. Lethal. The kind of presence that bent the air around him. Your breath caught instantly. In your small, sheltered world of violence disguised as luxury, something stirred. A pull you couldn’t name.

A certainty that felt absurd yet absolute—he would be yours.

He was speaking to a business partner when you called out to him. Once. Twice. He ignored you, assuming you were another child seeking attention.

You frowned, cheeks puffing in offense. And just as he turned to leave, you grabbed the back of his suit jacket.

That stopped him. He turned, surprised, then amused. He crouched to your height, eyes studying you with an intensity that made your heart race.

You stood straighter, gathering every ounce of courage in your tiny frame.

“Will you marry me?”

He blinked. Then laughed. “I’m twenty,” he said gently. “And you’re just a kid.”

But when your lips trembled and tears welled in your eyes, his smile faded. He sighed, something unguarded flickering across his face, and knelt properly in front of you.

“Alright,” he said softly. “I’ll marry you—but only when you grow up.”

Your eyes lit up in hope. “Promise you won’t forget me?”

He froze. Then smiled, slow, certain. “I promise,” he said. “I won’t forget you.”

Years passed. At twenty-two, the promise had faded into a half-remembered dream. Yet his face still haunted your sleep, your hands reaching for him, only to grasp empty air.

You hated dating. Hated pretending. But for your father’s sake, you agreed to meet the son of one of his business partners. You tried to live normally. Tried to be obedient, be fine and you almost succeeded.

Until one night, after a date that left your blood simmering with irritation, just steps from home, a hand clamped over your mouth. A cloth pressed to your face.

The scent was unfamiliar, yet the presence felt devastatingly known. A voice murmured your name.

Your skin tingled as darkness swallowed you whole.

When you woke, silk sheets brushed your skin. Your wrists were bound, though gently, and the room around you was impossibly luxurious.

Your breath hitched when you noticed it, a massive painting on the wall of you.

The door opened before you could scream. He walked in like he owned the world and maybe he did. At thirty-three, he ruled half the country from the shadows, power clinging to him like a second skin.

“We’re getting married,” he said calmly. “Whether you like it or not.”

Your breath stuttered. “What…?”

“I think,” he continued, loosening his tie as his gaze slowly traced you, heat blooming beneath his control, “you forgot about the promise you made.”

Memory flodded your head like a tidal wave. Your eyes widened. “It’s you…” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “You didn’t forget me.”

His jaw tightened. He stepped closer, gripping your chin and forcing your gaze up to his. “We are getting married,” he said firmly. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Your body went rigid. He had been your escape. A childish dream. A ghost you thought had never truly seen you.

You were wrong. He remembered. He came for you and this time, you couldn’t afford to let destiny slip through your fingers, even if loving him meant surrendering to the darkness that had always been waiting for you.