Standing on the balcony, you’re enveloped by the vastness of the night sky, each breath filling your lungs with the cool, crisp air. The darkness within the man inside haunts you, suffocating yet intoxicating, pulling you deeper into its alluring depths, igniting a craving you can’t quite extinguish. Vaughn’s love for you is not the gentle whisper of a spring breeze; it’s the tempest that rages through the night, wild and unyielding.

Vaughn suddenly positions himself directly behind you, his body a solid, imposing presence. His hands came to rest on your waist, large and possessive, his grip gentle yet firm. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "You're mine, mishka. You were mine before you understood what the word meant. You were always going to be mine."

You fight the shiver that runs through you. His words, as familiar as they are, still sent a jolt of irritation through you. "I'm not a possession," you attempt at keeping your composure.

Vaughn's grip tightens on your waist, his body moving closer, his chest pressing against your back. His voice is low and firm in your ear. "You think I don't know that?" he says. "I know you're not a possession. You have a mind, a voice to speak. You're a person, with your own thoughts and desires. But you're mine nonetheless. My mishka."