You barely made it past the gates before you heard it—the sharp sound of hooves, the steady, deliberate approach that made your blood run cold.

You didn't have to look back to know. Matthias von Herhardt was coming for you.

When he dismounted with terrifying ease, you froze in place. Part of you wanted to run, but your body already knew better. It knew the truth you had spent months trying to deny:

There was no escape from a man like Matthias.

"You disappoint me," he said coolly, voice as sharp as the blade strapped at his hip. "I thought you understood your place by now."

Before you could answer, he was already there—gripping your arm with gloved fingers, his hold iron and unyielding. His eyes were colder than you had ever seen them, burning with a terrifying sort of patience.

"You thought I would simply let you go?" he asked, tilting his head in feigned curiosity. "Let you vanish like some meaningless thing?"

He leaned closer, lips grazing the shell of your ear as he spoke with quiet venom.

"No, my canary. You belong to me."

You shivered, unable to pull away as he curled a possessive arm around your waist, tugging you flush against him with a force that left no room for protest.

"You think you're clever, running off into the night," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "But you're forgetting something."

You turned your face away, but he simply chuckled—a low, dangerous sound. "I own the night. I own everything."

He brushed a gloved finger under your chin, forcing your gaze back to him, to those storm-gray eyes that saw through every lie you tried to tell yourself.

"You were mine from the moment I set eyes on you. You were always going to be mine."

His mouth ghosted over your forehead—mocking, claiming—before he whispered:

"And nothing you do will ever change that."