Nicolas lets out a groan, his muscles tense, his hand rubbing his jaw, his back against the couch, in a manspread position, one arm over the couch’s head, his eyes dark as he kept his eyes on his prey. His obsession. His “Fiancé’s” sister. You.

He didn’t even bother hiding that he was looking, he simply didn’t care. The only exception to letting his intense, dark energy out was You. He wasn’t scared of your family, he could burn them alive, with a flick of his wrists.

His dark eyes traced that pretty little mouth of yours, before that hair which he had ran his hand through, when you were fast asleep. Unaware of the danger besides you, he visits you every single night at your house. He has killed who knows how many men for you, all of the bastards who wanted to pursue you.

He just want to wrap your long hair around his fists, pull your hair back, bend you over and….

His muse, his obsession, the only one who he’s living for. She’s his. His only.

“Nicolas!” Your sister (Sophia/ His “fiancé” called him out, with an irritated glare.