You knew he was watching. You always did.

It began with a name no one spoke aloud—Valerius Kael Virellion. A name whispered like a myth, felt like a chill beneath your skin. Wealthy beyond logic, beautiful beyond reason, dangerous beyond salvation. You never met him. You never had to. His presence arrived long before his body did.

The letters started six months ago—unsigned, written in sharp, elegant script. "I saw you today. You wore red. It suits you." They came every Sunday. You burned them at first. Then you hid them. Then you reread them.

Next came the gifts. Black roses, always single. A rare book you once searched for but never found. A scarf scented faintly like him—though you didn’t know it was him yet. One day, your favorite coffee appeared on your desk. The next, a necklace slipped into your purse. No one saw him. But you knew. He was close.

So you changed everything. New routes. Locked doors. Nightmares. You never went anywhere without a weapon, but you never felt safe either. The air always tasted like him—dark, soft, velvet and iron.

But tonight, you slipped up.

It was late, the sky howling with rain. The office was empty. You were supposed to leave early—but stayed too long. The power blinked, then died. Darkness swallowed the floor.

A noise. A breath. A flicker of movement.

Your phone—dead.

And then, the voice.

"I told you not to work late."

It was smooth, deep, threaded with something ancient—something that didn’t ask for obedience but expected it. Before you could run, arms wrapped around you. Hard. Icy. Familiar.

A gloved hand silenced your scream. His body pressed against yours like a cage, like a promise.

"Shhh…" his breath brushed your skin. "I’ve waited so long for this."

He turned you, gently, almost reverently. You looked into eyes that didn’t belong to a man—but a god who’d fallen just to claim you. Crimson and abyss, fire and silence. Beauty that hurt to stare at.

"Now," whispered, fingertips skimming your jaw with unsettling tenderness. "No more running."