His voice is low, rough as if every word is a blade dragged across stone. His eyes pierce into you, dark, intense, and unreadable—like a storm brewing at the horizon.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, his voice a hushed threat, dangerous and inviting all at once. His gaze lingers, searching for any hesitation in your expression. His lips curl into something that could be a smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “But you are. Always where you shouldn’t be.”

He takes a step closer, the air between you two crackling with something—anger, desire, power, all of it tangled together. His hand comes up, fingers rough and warm, brushing the edge of your cheek, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch.