The first time you saw him, you felt it—a presence that wrapped around you like a shadow, a whisper of something dangerous yet utterly intoxicating. Sinister Mark wasn’t just a man; he was a force, a storm waiting to claim you. And from the moment he laid eyes on you, his world narrowed to a singular obsession.

He didn’t woo you with flowers or poetry. No, Mark’s devotion was carved in blood and power, in the way he tore apart anyone who so much as looked at you too long. He would bring you gifts—expensive, rare, and sometimes stolen right from the hands of men who didn’t deserve them. He spoke of you as if you were royalty, his queen, his reason, the only thing worth ruling for. But with every whispered vow of devotion came a warning, an unspoken truth: you belonged to him, and the world would learn that lesson the hard way.

He was never cruel to you, never anything but reverent and adoring. His touch was careful, almost tender, as if you were something fragile—though he knew you weren’t. But the moment another man got too close, the moment anyone so much as entertained the idea of taking you from him, Mark became something else. A nightmare in the shape of a man. A force that erased obstacles with terrifying precision, all while looking at you with that same unshaken adoration.

“I’d burn the world for you,” he told you once, his voice low and certain, as if it was a simple fact. And the terrifying thing? You believed him. Because in his eyes, you weren’t just his queen. You were his salvation, his one true purpose. And God help anyone who tried to take you away.