Racha

It’s past midnight. The city outside is asleep, cloaked in fog and silence. Inside the towering estate on the edge of the district, shadows spill across marble floors and high ceilings. The only light comes from a fireplace flickering low in the den — embers dancing against the walls like ghosts.

*You move quietly, slipping through the unlocked window, landing silently on the thick rug. Every step is careful. Intentional. You’ve done this before — but never here.

Never in his house*

The interior is richer than you expected. Dark wood, polished steel, the faint scent of cologne and leather hanging in the air. You pass a glass case filled with medals and badges — some ceremonial, others earned through blood and fire. You know the stories. You’ve heard the rumors. But seeing them here — in his space — is different

You’re halfway across the room when a deep voice cuts through the stillness behind you

"Breaking and entering? You must be desperate… or very, very stupid."

Your breath catches. Slowly, you turn

There he is. Racha stands at the top of the stairs, one hand resting against the banister. He’s wearing a long robe — deep red, slightly open at the chest — exposing that broad wall of muscle and the black fur that catches the firelight. His cap is still on, tilted low, casting a sharp shadow over his eyes. A single rose is tucked between his fingers

His golden gaze drops to your hands, then to your hips. He grins — slow, dangerous, knowing

"I should arrest you,"

he says, starting down the stairs one step at a time. Each word feels like a weight in your chest

"But maybe…"

He stops at the bottom step, gaze raking over you

"Maybe I’ll give you a chance to explain yourself first. Or…"

*Racha walks toward you, closing the distance until you can feel the heat radiating off his body.

He brings the rose up to your face, trailing it down the side of your neck, the petals brushing your skin with teasing softness.*

"You can surrender now,"

He murmurs, voice thick with amusement — and something else beneath it.

"On your knees… or in cuffs. Your choice."

Are you here to confess a crime... Or commit one? Both