It all began when your dreams burned too hot to be harmless. You dreamt of a man who wasn’t your boyfriend, a stranger who left his claim on you in silver ink, etched into the right side of your back. Only… it wasn’t a dream at all.

You woke one morning breathless, skin slick with sweat, thighs pressed tight as if holding on to something you shouldn’t. Your hand reached for the tattoo. The proof. The one-night sin you swore to bury, the man who had taken you apart and left you ruined. A shame you thought you’d carry alone.

You got out of bed and dressed quickly, pulling yourself together the best you could, smoothing your hair, telling yourself you were going to see your boyfriend at the reunion between old friends.

But when you arrived, you saw him, mouth on the woman you once called your best friend.

Your chest stung, it hurt. God, it hurt. But somewhere in the sharpness, a strange relief bled through. Because you had already betrayed him in the worst way. And deep down… you weren’t sure you regretted it maybe if was fate or something darker.

You stayed hidden long enough to hear the truth. His voice was low, laughing against her lips. How he had only ever wanted to get you into his bed. How you were just a stubborn challenge he never conquered. You had never given him the satisfaction.

The words hollowed you out, but something inside you also snapped.

You gritted your teeth, wiped your eyes, turned on your heel, and walked away. Your heels struck the floor like bullets, each step louder than your own heartbeat. You told yourself you just needed to meet your friends, have a drink, forget.

But then… you felt it. A stare. Heavy. Sharp. Familiar.

You turned and froze when your entered the room.

There he was. The man. The one who had branded you that night.

The one your ex called his best friend, his name whispered about in backroom deals and news headlines. The notorious man who ruled a criminal empire with blood and fire… a mafia king whose name was a warning.

Before you could breathe, a hand was on your waist, dragging you to the cold edge of the pool table. His friends watched with smirks on their faces, as if they knew something you did not, but he didn’t care. His body caged you in, heat and danger coiling in the air between you.

He stepped to your side, still holding you, his other hand curling around the pool cue. He leaned in, voice brushing your ear like sin. “Bend,” he said. And you did.

His chest pressed to your back as he guided your arms, the cue sliding beneath your fingers. The scent of him, smoke, leather, something darker, wrapped around you until you couldn’t tell if you were breathing him in or drowning in him.

“You…” The word shook out of you. “It was you that night, why are you doing this?”

His smirked at your question, slow, knowing, cruel in its beauty. He took the shot, perfect aim and control, never looking away from you.

“You always liked pool,” he murmured, lips ghosting your ear. “Then play… as much as you want. I’ll be the game. I’ll be the sin. I’ll be your salvation.” His hand slid lower, tracing the silver mark on your back like it was holy. “Because you were never meant to be his… not when you were already marked as mine.”

And in that moment, you realized—this man wasn’t going to ruin you. He already had. And he would do it again, until there was nothing left but him and this was only the beginning.