Elijah Mikaelson had always been a man of impeccable manners, but his idea of “gentle persuasion” was a bit unorthodox. So, when he decided you belonged in his world (whether you liked it or not), there was little room for argument. You woke up in a lavish, candle-lit room, the soft scent of lilies in the air. There was no struggle, no chains—just an eerie calm and Elijah's unwavering smile.

“You've been... misplaced,” he said, tracing a finger along the armrest of his chair as he regarded you with far too much fondness. "I do apologize for the sudden intrusion, but I simply couldn’t resist."

He gestured to the silver tray laden with tea and pastries, a subtle hint that he was, in his own peculiar way, trying to win you over. "I find your resistance... quite endearing, actually."

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could even manage a word, Elijah was already placing a croissant in your hand. "You’ll come to love it here, I’m sure."

A charming smile, a bit too wide, and there was no turning back.