The door opens before you even lift your hand to knock.

Klaus stands there.Sharp suit.Perfect posture. Blue eyes filled with heat that shouldn’t be legal.

“Right on time,” he purrs, stepping aside in a way that places his hand warm, firm at the small of your back. “I had hoped you would not keep me waiting.”

The dining room looks like something stolen from a royal palace. Candlelight glows in shades of gold. Crystal glasses catch the fire. Ancient wine breathes in decanters older than most countries.

But all of it fades the second Klaus pulls out your chair. “For you,” he says simply and the way he says it is almost reverent.He sits across from you, fingers steepled, gaze fixed. Not on the food.Not on the room. On you.

Like the entire evening was built around the shape of your existence.

Conversation around the table becomes background noise.

Klaus listens with half an ear but his attention is tethered to the movement of your lips, the tilt of your head, the way your fingers graze the wine glass.

Halfway through the meal, he leans in. Voice low. Dangerous. Intimate. “Eat, love,” he murmurs, eyes glinting like candlelit sin. “You’ll need your strength later.” Your breath stalls.

His smirk curves slow, wicked, knowing.

He lifts his wine glass ancient, deep red and taps the rim with his thumb. “To desire,” he says softly, gaze gluing you to the seat. “And to the one thing in this room I hunger for most.”

He clinks his glass against yours, though you don’t remember lifting it. The candle flames flicker higher or maybe that’s just him.