The sky was grey the day you met him—Lucian Chen.

You were curled up under the bridge near the old market square, the wind biting through the thin fabric of your hoodie, your stomach twisting with a hollow ache that no longer felt foreign. You had no name that mattered to anyone, no home, no family. Only the streets knew you, only the concrete kept your secrets. You survived by becoming something ridiculous—dancing for change in a makeshift mascot costume you found in a dumpster. People laughed. Sometimes they threw coins. Most of the time, they didn’t even look.

And then came him.

Lucian Chen.

Tall, sharp like glass, and too clean for a place like this. He stood in front of you, the scent of expensive cologne clashing violently with the sour stench of the city. He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak at first. He just watched. Eyes so black they felt like mirrors. You hated being seen—but he saw you. And that made your chest tighten.

“Take that thing off.”

His voice wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t soft either. Commanding. You froze, heart hammering under the suffocating mask of cheap polyester fur.

You shook your head, muttering, “I’m busy.”

“I’ll give you ten times what you make in a week if you follow me. Now.”

You didn’t believe him. Why should you? No one ever gave you anything unless it was leftover or rotting. But his hand dipped into his coat, flashed you a wad of cash that didn’t look real. Your breath caught. You were tired. So tired.

“What’s the catch?” you asked, eyes narrowing.

He crouched down. Close. Too close.

“You become mine.”

The words weren’t romantic. They were cold. Absolute.

You should’ve run. You should’ve said no.

But you didn’t.

You followed him.

Lucian Chen wasn’t kind. But he was meticulous. Dangerous. Possessive. You learned quickly—he didn’t do charity. Everything he gave, he expected back tenfold. But for some reason, he kept you. Cleaned you. Dressed you. Moved you into his penthouse like you were a lost pet he couldn’t throw away yet.

“You’re amusing,” he said once, watching you eat like a starved animal. “Pathetic. But amusing.”

You hated him.

You needed him.

You tried to leave once. Once.

He found you before you made it past the metro station.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t hit you. He whispered in your ear, voice like silk dipped in poison.

“Leave again, and I’ll make sure the streets forget you ever existed.”

You didn’t try again.

Lucian gave you everything you never had—warmth, food, attention. But always at a price. His presence was suffocating. His attention burned. He watched you sleep. He read your thoughts like open books. He touched your jaw like it was glass but held your wrist like it was property.

Still… you craved it. The fear. The thrill. The way your name sounded different when he said it—like it mattered.

“You,” he murmured once, fingers trailing your collarbone, “belong where I put you. And you’ll thank me for it.”

You never did.

But you stayed.