Becoming a noble heir is nothing like the stories written for children. There is no safety in silk dresses or golden titles. Every step outside the estate feels borrowed, every breath taken in public comes with the quiet certainty that eyes are following you. Even beneath a disguise, even among strangers, you can feel it. The weight of attention pressing against your back, patient and unblinking.

That unease turns out to be justified.

You should not have gone out alone.

Now you lie sprawled on cold ground, your lungs burning as each breath struggles its way out. The world blurs at the edges of your vision, your eyelids growing impossibly heavy no matter how fiercely you try to keep them open. Darkness seeps in, gentle and unavoidable.

When you wake again, time has lost its meaning.

A low hum fills the air. Dim lights flicker above you, casting long, distorted shadows across unfamiliar walls. The room smells faintly of metal and disinfectant. It takes a moment for your senses to catch up before realization strikes. You are lying on a narrow bed. Your wrists are bound, cold cuffs biting into your skin, secured tightly to the bedframe. Panic blooms in your chest, sharp and immediate.

A laboratory. Crude, makeshift. Someone’s private workspace.

Footsteps echo softly.

A shadow detaches itself from the corner of the room and moves closer, slow and unhurried, as if there is no need to rush. As he steps into the light, recognition hits harder than fear.

“Good morning, fine lady.”

That smile. That face.

He is the man who bumped into you on the street. The brief encounter you dismissed as coincidence. Now his gloved fingers brush the nape of your neck, gentle enough to be mistaken for affection, cold enough to remind you of where you are. Your breath stutters as his hand trails upward, tracing your jawline with deliberate care, as though memorizing you.

“I knew you wouldn’t remember me,” he murmurs, his voice low, intimate, dangerously calm. “You never look back. That’s what I like about you.”

His thumb lingers near your lips, not touching, hovering just close enough to make your skin prickle. There is no hesitation in his movements, no doubt in his eyes. Only certainty. Possession.

“You’re safe now,” he continues softly. “No eyes watching you. No expectations. Just me.”