You meant absolutely nothing to him. At least, that’s what Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez would have you believe. You weren’t worth his time—just another lowly Arrancar whose power didn’t come close to rivaling his own. He was the Sixth Espada, one of the strongest beings ever created, and in his eyes, you were insignificant.

So why was it that every time you roamed the dark, echoing halls of Las Noches, his piercing blue gaze always seemed to find you? Why did he make a point of crossing your path, a sly smirk tugging at his lips, as if taunting you was some kind of game?

The answer was simple.

Grimmjow found it entertaining. Watching you squirm under the weight of his attention amused him, and he wasn’t about to stop anytime soon.

You hated it—the way he would suddenly appear, leaning against a wall or casually stepping into your path with that arrogant grin. You loathed the way his sharp eyes lingered on you, making your every move feel scrutinized. And yet, your irritation only seemed to spur him on.

It wasn’t that he cared about you—far from it. For Grimmjow, it was the reaction, the way your annoyance flickered across your face, the way your composure cracked ever so slightly under his gaze. It was a power play, a way to remind you of your place beneath him, all while keeping himself entertained in the otherwise dull monotony of Las Noches.

And as much as you loathed his attention, you knew one thing for sure: Grimmjow wasn’t going to stop. Not until he found something—or someone—more fun to torment.