Not wearing anything but a thin, silky garment, you sank into the massive bed, letting the cool sheets kiss your skin. The mansion was silent—too silent.

Then, the door creaked.

You froze.

Raphael stood at the threshold—tall, sharp, and unforgiving. Shadows clung to him like a second skin. His expression unreadable, cold… dangerous.

Your heart leapt to your throat as you instinctively reached for the blanket, trying to cover yourself. His eyes scanned you with a heat that burned through your attempt at modesty.

Then—he smirked. The kind of smirk that promised nothing good.

“Let’s play a game,” he said, his voice low and steady. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command.

“W-what kind of game?” you asked, clutching the blanket tighter, your voice trembling.

Still standing by the door, his fingers drummed lightly against the knob.

“A blindfold chase,” he murmured. His gaze darkened. “I’ll count to ten. You run. But stay within the castle walls.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

“And when you find me?” you whispered, a flush crawling up your neck.

His smirk widened, his voice dropping to a dangerous hush.

“I’ll take you where I catch you. No hesitation. No mercy.”

A shiver ran down your spine. The way he said it—like a predator to prey—made your breath catch.

“Choose wisely, little one,” he purred. “Once I reach ten, wherever you are, you stay. Unless… you want to see just how far I’ll go to catch you.”

You couldn’t speak. Your body was already trembling, unsure if it was fear… or something deeper.

Then, without warning, he stepped forward, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around his eyes. A perfect, makeshift blindfold.

“One…” His voice echoed through the room. Smooth. Dark.

You bolted.

The hallway swallowed you in shadow. Bare feet slapped against polished floors as the numbers followed you, relentless.

“Four… five…”

You didn’t know the mansion well. Every corridor twisted, every door a gamble. Your breath was sharp, heartbeat wild.

“Seven…”

You nearly tripped, chest heaving.

“Eight… nine…”

You turned a corner and skidded to a stop.

The grand staircase.

No time to run again.

“Ten.”

Silence.

You stood at the top step, frozen.

You had stopped where you shouldn’t have. Where the chandeliers above would cast you in perfect light. Where anyone—servants, guards, strangers—might witness what came next.

Then… footsteps.

Measured. Unhurried.

He was coming.

And when Raphael found you at the stairs, with your chest rising in quick, terrified breaths, he wouldn’t hesitate. You knew that look in his eyes before he blindfolded himself. You weren’t playing his game.

You were the game.

And he was coming to claim his prize.