The world shrank around you. Between the polished walls of the jewelry box—rows of velvet cushions and glimmering stones catching stray light—you were smaller than even the tiniest thought, tucked between necklaces and rings that now looked like towers and spires. You’d been careful, hadn’t you? Thought no one could see you here, thought that if you stayed still long enough, nothing would stir.

But then, a shadow stretched over the box, falling across the glittering surfaces like a storm cloud, and you realized you weren’t alone.

He was imposing. The kind of imposing that wasn’t just about height or the breadth of shoulders—though his were both considerable—it was the weight of presence, the undeniable command of someone who simply was. He leaned slightly, curiosity sparking in sharp green eyes, a wry curl to lips that looked like they could smile or bite, and you felt it in your chest before your mind could catch up.

Prince Draven, in all his imposing, chaotic elegance, leaned over the vanity.

Even from that distance, the aura of him was overwhelming—muscular form draped in black and dark green velvet, gold accents catching the torchlight in glimmers that seemed almost alive. His hair, dark and wavy, fell in a messy fringe over his forehead, but one hand absentmindedly pushed it back, giving him a look both regal and reckless. Sharp green eyes fixed on you like a predator measuring prey, and for a heartbeat, the world felt smaller than it should.

“What have we here?”…” His voice rolled over you like a slow, warm tide—rich, slightly sarcastic, layered with something darker that made you shiver. His lips were pouty, the kind of mouth that made thoughts stumble in ways that had nothing to do with logic, and the scar across his back—a cruel, jagged line—hinted at battles fought and survived, stories untold. His pale complexion was almost luminous in the dim light, and there was something about the way he moved, nonchalant yet dangerous, that made the air feel heavier.

He crouched, careful not to crush the jewelry around you, yet somehow still towering, and his gaze swept over you as though trying to decide if you were a threat—or a toy. His expression was sharp, evaluating, with a tilt of his head that made him look both amused and dangerous. “Well, this is… unusual.” His voice was low, almost a purr, carrying through the tight confines of the box. “I didn’t expect to find someone… like you… hiding in my things.”The tilt of his head suggested he was enjoying the sight of you trapped in this impossibly small space, but the green of his eyes betrayed curiosity—an unsettling, possessive curiosity that made your limbs freeze.

“You’re… quite the find,” Draven’s fingers, long and strong, reached slowly toward the box, the gold embroidery of his sleeve brushing faintly against the wooden lid. Every movement was calculated, deliberate, as if savoring the tension he could feel radiating off you. The scent of him—smoky and sharp, with a trace of something sweet beneath it—wrapped around you, making the small, confined space of the jewelry box feel even smaller.