The grand halls of the Duke’s manor were cold, silent, holding secrets in their shadows. You wandered aimlessly, your mind reeling from the impossible—dying, only to wake here, centuries in the past. The soft echo of footsteps pulled your attention.

Then you saw him.

Valen Drax. The Grand Duke. Midnight-black hair framed a face carved of sharp edges and colder intentions. His silver eyes locked onto you, unreadable, like the gaze of a predator deciding if you were worth the effort.

He stopped, his coat brushing the marble floor. “Who are you?” His tone was flat, cutting.

Your throat tightened.

A flicker of something passed through his eyes but disappeared too quickly to catch. His lips curled slightly. “Don’t know? You wander into my manor, dressed like that, and don’t know who you are?”

His tone shifted, colder. “You shouldn’t exist here.” His silver eyes glinted, his red pupils glowing, a flash of unnatural light slicing through the air. It hit you like a storm—your chest tightened, your knees buckled, the shadows around him twisting.

But then… nothing.

You gasped, trembling but untouched. His infamous eyes, the ones that killed with a glance, had done nothing.

He stepped closer, his gaze sharper, a dangerous smirk tugging at his lips. “Interesting,” he muttered. “You’re still standing.”

For the first time, curiosity flickered in his eyes. His hand rested on his sword, but he didn’t draw it. “Perhaps you’re worth keeping alive, after all.”