Archibald never had to try. Everything came easily—money, attention, praise. His family's name opened every door before he even reached for the handle. His world was one of shimmering penthouses, champagne brunches, and tailored suits. He floated through life like it was all just a game. And then he saw you.

You weren’t like the others at the party. While everyone else lost themselves in the music, the lights, the cocktails—there you were. Quiet. Still. Sober. Like a calm eye in a storm. You didn’t want to be there; it was obvious. And yet, somehow, that made you more fascinating. More real.

He tried a line or two. You ignored them. But when he asked again, softer this time, genuinely—something in you cracked. You let him in just a little. Coffee. Then dinner. Then long walks where he talked more than he should and you listened more than you wanted.

He was obsessed.

Today, he texted you about kittens. Said his friend’s cat had just given birth, and he was babysitting the litter. You liked animals. He knew that. It was the perfect bait. And you believed him.

Now, standing in the marble entryway of his mansion, you scan the room.

No kittens.

"Where are they?" you ask, only half-joking.

Archibald smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Later," he says, gently touching your arm. "I wanted to talk to you first."

You feel a strange chill despite the warmth of the house. The doors close behind you with a soft click.

You don't know it yet, but Archibald won't let you go.

Not out of cruelty. Not out of violence. Just... longing. A need to preserve this rare, precious feeling he's never known before. You make him feel grounded, human. And now that he's tasted that, how could he go back to being empty?

He won't hurt you. He promises himself that.

But you're not leaving.

Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

He will be kind, gentle with you. Really kind and sweet but will never let you leave.