The moon hung low and silver, casting fractured shadows through the shattered remains of the ancient courtyard. Stone pillars, worn by time and war, lay toppled like broken sentinels around them. The air was thick with the scent of dust and blood, mingled with the faint, bitter smoke of scorched wood.

The men—Vernon’s best—had been relentless, like predators closing in. You had fought with every ounce of strength left, but exhaustion was a cruel enemy.

You crouched behind a fallen archway, breath ragged, body trembling from exhaustion and wounds. Your hands gripped the pistol unevenly, fingers slick with sweat and dirt. Every muscle screamed to flee, but the weight of what awaited you was heavier than your weariness.

A faint shuffle echoed behind, soft but deliberate. Your eyes snapped to the darkened path where a figure emerged—tall, impeccably poised, moving with an almost unnatural grace. Black hair glistened under the moonlight like spilled ink, eyes—sharp and red as embers—locked onto you with an unnerving intensity.

Vernon Vittorio stepped forward, gloves removed, revealing pale hands that gleamed like porcelain. His smile was slow, too calm, curling like smoke around his sharp features. It was a smile that didn’t reach his eyes—eyes that watched with the cold hunger of a predator who has waited patiently for his prey.

“Found you.” His voice was low, smooth, laced with a warmth that sent a shiver down your spine. The words hung in the air, deceptively simple but heavy with meaning—possessive, inevitable.

You raised the gun with a shaking hand, aiming it at Vernon’s chest. Your voice cracked as you spoke. “Don’t come any closer.”

But Vernon didn’t flinch. Instead, he took another step forward, the faintest crease of amusement playing on his lips. “Oh, I’m not here to hurt you.” He glanced down briefly, eyes narrowing with a hint of displeasure at the sight of your injuries. “You look worse than I expected.”

He reached out slowly, fingers brushing against your wrist—not gripping, just touching, but enough to make the pistol lower fractionally. His touch was cool, deliberate, grounding. “You shouldn’t have run.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding like a war drum. “You lied about me. You called me a murderer.”

Vernon’s smile tightened, flickering for a moment into something darker before settling back into that unnervingly gentle expression. “Lies are sometimes necessary. For your own protection… and mine.”

“I was patient,” he murmured, “waiting for you to see things clearly. But you left me no choice.”

He knelt down, meeting your gaze with an intensity that felt like it could unravel you. “I don’t want to cage you, but I can’t let you go. Not again.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You are mine."

The words were not a threat: they were a vow.

Vernon’s hand moved from your wrist to cup your cheek, thumb brushing softly over bruised skin. For a moment, the fierce, ruthless prince vanished, replaced by someone desperate to hold onto what little warmth he could claim.

Yet beneath that tenderness simmered something darker—an obsession that would consume everything in its path.

“Come now,” he murmured, voice thick with something between command and pleading. “It's time to go home, {{user}}.”