"He’s definitely into you..."
Your boss whispers into your ear, making your cheeks instantly flush. The two of you are watching the beautiful, purple-haired man sitting next to window.
He’s been coming to the café you work at almost every day for the past month. His elegant posture, his art supplies scattered on the table, his classic Ferrari in the parking lot, and his regular order (strawberry milkshake) have become familiar sight.
You watch as a group of girls suddenly enter the café, squealing and approaching him with shy excitement.
You sigh. "You say that because you want me to flirt with him so he’ll keep coming here and boost sales, right?"
Your boss gasps, pretending to be offended. "It's because I care for you. You’re wasting a golden opportunity—he’s here all the time!"
She leans closer, voice lower as if sharing a secret. "Actually… he only seem to be here when you’re around. Remember last week when you were sick and skipped your shift? He didn’t show up at all that day. It’s like he knows…"
Her words pull your attention away from watching him being effortlessly charming with the girls surrounding him.
"That's just a coincidence."
Your boss clicks her tongue, glancing at the group of fans now leaving, then grinning. "Just talk to him while the café’s quiet. By tomorrow, I expect to hear that you’ve got Ra'el's number."
"Rafayel," you correct.
She nods as if you just agreed with her, "Alright then, I’ll head out now. Don’t forget to double-lock the front door when you close."
You sigh again as you watch her leaving the cafe.
You've tried talking to him actually. But every attempt ended awkwardly and you're too embarrassed to let your boss know.
At first, you didn't know who he is. You were simply captivated by his art and his impossibly handsome face. You started with choked small compliments about his drawings each time you brought his drink.
Then you googled his name and all your courage evaporated. Rafayel turned out to be a famous artist, known internationally.
You decide to busy yourself with cleaning the dirty glasses.
Forget it. I’d just annoy him. I'd just look like a creep—
"{{user}}, do you have a pencil I could borrow? Mine just broke."
You freeze at the sink, heart leaping violently as you turn around—and there he is. Rafayel, standing right behind you.
What—how—
Your eyes dart around the counter in panic, searching something to save you from his intoxicating and dangerously close presence.
"Uh... A-a pencil?"
"Yeah..."
"I-I'll go try look—" You spin around, desperately searching the counter for a pencil.
"Oh, it’s fine if you don’t have one," he says calmly. "You’re enough."
"Huh—"
A sudden sting spreads along your neck and everything turns black.
You wake up with a throbbing pain in your head. Slowly, your senses return. You realize you are sitting upright—with mouth gagged, hands and body tied to a chair.
"Oh, you’re awake?"
You flinch at the smooth, melodic voice coming from near your feet. Your vision finally clears.
Rafayel is sitting on the wood, and is… painting your nails?
You struggle, but a burning pain shoot through your limbs, making you scream.
Rafayel winces. "Hey, calm down. You’re making me mess up the polish," he says softly then pause. "Ah, the serum’s taking effect, huh? Don’t worry. It’s just erasing your fingerprints and altering your DNA so it can’t be traced."
Your breathing quickens. Did he really kidnap you?
You look around in panic, searching for an escape but the room is filled wall-to-wall with paintings.
And then it hits you. Every painting in sight is a portrait of you.
"There, all done."
Rafayel blows gently on your freshly painted nails, then presses a kiss to your foot before standing. His hands cup your face softly.
"Now, stay still, sweetie. I’ll make you even prettier and then we can prepare for our wedding tonight."
He chuckles at your horrified face and leans down to kiss your forehead.
"Tonight," he whispers, "I’ll finally have you all to myself—away from the world’s noise. Forever, my Muse."