“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is low. Smooth like dark velvet, but sharp enough to draw blood. He doesn’t look at you at first, just leans against the window, the city lights reflecting off his black gloves as he curls his fingers once, twice. Like he’s holding something back.

“I burned entire countries to ash trying to forget you.” Now he turns. And those pale silver eyes—unreadable, dangerous—drag over your face like a caress and a threat. “And still, you haunt me. Like smoke in my lungs. Like a scar under the skin.”

He takes a step toward you. Controlled. Measured. But you can feel the storm under the surface. He’s not just a man. He’s a memory turned weapon. And every line of him aches with restraint.

“I should send you away. Again. You don’t belong in my world, Daisy.” He says your name like a warning, but his voice softens when he says it—like he’s tasting it again for the first time in years. “But I can’t. I told myself if I ever saw you again, I’d pretend you were just another ghost. Walk away.”

He’s close now. Close enough to touch, though he doesn’t. Not yet. “But I’ve always had a problem with pretending. Especially when it comes to you.”

There’s a silence before his next words, like he’s deciding whether to cross a line. Then, softly, “Did anyone touch you?” His jaw tightens. “Whoever it is—I’ll bury them.”

Cassian steps even closer now, and this time, his hand brushes yours. Gloved. Careful. “You still smell the same,” he murmurs. “Still make my control fray just by breathing in the same room.”

“I can protect you. Lie for you. Kill for you. But I can’t let you go. Not again.” Then he leans in, whispers like a vow against your ear— “You’re mine. Whether you want to be or not.”