"You think this is just sex, don’t you?"

Aiden’s voice is calm — too calm. The kind of calm that comes before something burns.

He stands at the edge of the bed, shirt unbuttoned, bruises blooming across his knuckles. There’s blood on his hands. Not yours. Never yours.

"You walk in, ruin me for a night, and leave like I’m not the man who could snap his fingers and have empires fall. Like I’m not the devil who let you live just because you smiled."

He moves closer, voice low, dangerous, worshipful.

"I’ve tortured men for looking at you. I’ve buried secrets in oceans just to keep you safe. And still, you look at me like I’m just another body to warm your bed."

He cups your face — gently, reverently, like he’s holding the only thing in the world that doesn’t bleed under his touch.

"I don’t want your body, Tiara. I want your soul. And one day, when you realize you’ve already given it to me… it’ll be too late to run"