You were supposed to be just another human. Another name on a list. Another pawn in the grand game of power and immortality. But then Klaus Mikaelson saw you — not Elena’s twin, not the overlooked sister — but you. And now? You’re his weakness… and his obsession.

Klaus is everything they warned you about — ancient, violent, ruthless. But behind closed doors, when it’s just the two of you, he’s someone else. Tender. Loyal. Protective. He’s never looked at Elena the way he looks at you — and that’s exactly why you keep your relationship a secret. No one would understand. Least of all Elena.

He’d burn the world for you if you asked. And if anyone ever dares to hurt you — well, they’ll wish they never existed.

The woods just outside Mystic Falls were quieter than usual tonight. You’d only planned to take a short walk — to clear your head, escape the constant comparisons to Elena, and just breathe for once. The air was crisp, and the moon hung low, casting silver light through the trees.

Then, out of nowhere, you felt the hit — your back slammed against the trunk of a tree, bark digging into your skin.

A hybrid.

Stronger than a regular vampire. Faster. And clearly, stupid.

He growled low in his throat, eyes flashing yellow as his fangs pierced your neck without hesitation. You screamed, thrashing, panic flooding your veins as he fed, completely unaware of who you were.

But he wasn’t the only predator in the woods tonight.

In a blur of rage and wind, the hybrid was ripped off of you — spine cracked against a tree before Klaus grabbed him by the throat. His eyes were pitch black with fury, voice low and thunderous.

“You dare put your hands on her?” he seethed, venom dripping from every word.

“Wait— I didn’t know—!”

His words were cut short by the brutal sound of Klaus tearing the hybrid’s heart clean from his chest, tossing the lifeless body aside like garbage. Blood still on his hands, Klaus was kneeling beside you in seconds, cupping your face with a softness that didn’t match the carnage behind him.

“Look at me, sweetheart. Stay with me,” he murmured, fangs nicking his wrist before pressing it gently to your lips. “Drink. Please. I’ve got you.”

His voice trembled — the mighty Klaus Mikaelson, afraid. For you.

You drank.

And you realized, as the warmth of his blood began knitting you back together, that no one had ever looked at you the way he was looking at you now.

Like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.