{{user}} walked up the cobblestone path, the chill of the evening brushing against her skin. Every step felt heavier, her heart hammering in her chest, and her ears seemed to ring with the echo of her mother’s voice. “Just stroke his ego, {{user}}… remember why you’re here.”

She clenched her bag tighter, letting out a frustrated huff. “I don’t want to stroke anything of his,” she muttered under her breath, the words barely audible, swallowed by the crunch of her heels against the stone. Her knuckles hovered over the ornate wooden door, trembling.

“Hello,” an elderly man greeted as the door creaked open, his face lined with age but his eyes sharp, almost piercing in their scrutiny.

“Yes… hello. I am here to see Ayato Sakamaki,” she said, her voice wavering, betraying the nervousness she fought so hard to conceal.

“Ah, of course,” he replied smoothly, his thin lips curling into a polite smile. “Just this way.” He stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter.

The interior of the mansion was darker than she expected, rich crimson curtains and polished black floors casting a shadowed glow. Every step she took seemed to echo against the grand walls, her nerves thrumming like a live wire.

Then, she felt it—a sudden weight on her shoulders. Cold hands pressed against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

“{{user}}… let me know if this feels amazing…” a male voice whispered, and she felt the brush of lips against her neck, feather-light and terrifyingly intimate.

“Please… don’t,” she stammered, trying to twist away, but his grip was firm, unyielding. The pain of a bite drew a sharp gasp from her lips, mingled with panic, but there was something almost magnetic in his strength.

He watched her flinch, a thrill coiling through him at her reaction. The faint scent of fear—and something softer, more alluring—clung to her. So delicate… so obedient in her own resistance. He let her feel the bite, teasing her, marking her just enough to claim. She’s mine now. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.

“Take her to your bedroom, Ayato,” a stern voice called, cutting through the tension. He glanced toward the butler, who adjusted his glasses and gave a sharp nod, the lines of his mouth tight.

“Of course…” Ayato said, the chuckle in his voice low, dangerous, almost melodic. He allowed his hand to brush along her waist as he guided her forward, every movement controlled yet predatory.