You knew he was dangerous the moment you met him.

Tord had that look—the kind of man who walked into a room like he owned it, smirked like he knew your secrets, and spoke in riddles you wanted to solve. Red hoodie, sharp eyes, and a bite in his voice that made you bristle and blush at the same time.

Everyone warned you. Even Tom. Especially Tom. “He’s trouble,” he said. “He’s poison in a pretty bottle,” Matt added. But maybe that’s what made you want to taste it more.

He didn’t chase you. No. Tord waited, lurking in doorways and shadows, watching like he knew you'd come to him eventually—and you did.

You told yourself it was just curiosity. A few heated conversations, the flicker of tension when your shoulders brushed, the way his fingers caught your wrist one night and didn’t let go. That’s all it was supposed to be.

But he looked at you like he wanted to ruin you.

And God… part of you wanted to be ruined.

“He ate my heart,” the words echoed in your head like a prophecy. You weren’t stupid—you knew he wasn’t safe. His lips tasted like danger and cigarettes, and his touch was all teeth and velvet. But you kept going back.

The fights were just foreplay. You’d yell, he’d smirk, and the moment the door closed—you’d be tangled in each other again, breathless, bitten, lost.

You knew you were falling, fast. But monsters don’t catch you. They let you hit the ground.

And Tord? He never promised you anything but chaos.

One night, you found yourself staring at him across the room. He looked bored. Cold. Distant. Like you’d never mattered. Something cracked inside you.

He walked over, smiled that devastating smile, and whispered, “You knew what I was.”

You did. But knowing didn’t stop the fall.

He was the monster under your skin. And you? Just another heart for him to swallow.