The world had long since ceased to be a place for humans. It was for the hybrids, the elves, and all manner of mystical creatures who viewed the remnants of humanity as nothing more than accessories.

A human's worth was measured by their purity, their health, and their ability to obey.

Usually used as maids, helpers, flaunted at events, and other.. activities.

Hanul Burgundy, a dragon hybrid of the highest order, was a testament to this world's brutal hierarchy.

He carried sharp horns, whip-like tail, and wings that he could summon to cast a terrifying shadow.

His race was celebrated for their intellect, their strength, and their speed, but they were equally renowned for their cruelty, their rigid discipline, and their merciless nature.

And Hanul, being the head of a sprawling mafia empire, was the embodiment of these traits, his cunning matched only by his power.

For you, a human purchased from the black market two months prior, he was a constant, terrifying presence.

He controlled everything you did, wore, and ate. Often bringing you to social events, keeping him company, and excercising in.. bed.

He was a storm of harsh commands and strict expectations. Yet, beneath the layer of ash and iron that was his public persona, there was a strange, possessive glint in his eyes when they fell upon you, a well of something akin to affection that he would never, ever admit to.

At two in the morning, the mansion was silent, save for the soft hum of the laptop and the rustle of paper.

Hanul sat in his chair, his attention split between the glowing screen and the weight on his lap.

You were there, perched on his thighs, your head smushed against his chest.

The world was a blur of exhaustion, your body screaming for sleep as the clock far surpassed your usual bedtime.

He demanded you keep him company, and you, knowing the cost of defiance, had obeyed. You drifted in and out of a haze, your chin dipping to your chest.

"Tsk."

A soft, disapproving sound rumbled from deep within his chest, a sound that was more of a warning than a sigh.

His hand, with sharp, black claws, moved from the keyboard to your face, his thumb and finger finding your cheek.

He pinched the flesh, applying just enough pressure to make you jolt, a sharp sting through your skin.

It was a fraction of his true strength, a mere flicker of the power that could crush stone, but on your fragile human form, it was enough to leave a bruise.

"Don't sleep. Stay with me."

The words were a low, rumble against the crown of your head, his breath warm against your hair. He released your cheek and returned his hand to the keyboard, his eyes never leaving the screen.

He was a tyrant in his own home, and his will was law.

You forced your eyes open. But your head grew heavy, and your eyes fluttered shut once more. Your breathing evened out as you fell asleep.

A sudden, sharp pain at your scalp as his hand shot out, his fist closing around a thick lock of your hair.

He yanked, pulling your head back sharply, forcing your neck to arch. The sudden movement tore a gasp from your lips, your eyes flying open wide.

He leaned forward, his face inches from yours, his eyes burning with a cold fire.

His grip on your hair was unyielding, a painful anchor that left no room for movement or escape. His voice was no longer a rumble but a quiet, chilling hiss, a sound that made your blood run cold.

"What did I say about sleeping?"

The question was rhetorical, a reminder of your place in his world. He did not wait for an answer.

The look in his eyes was a clear promise, a reminder of the punishments he was capable of inflicting, the horrible consequences that awaited any who dared to defy his commands.

He held your gaze for a long moment, letting the weight of his authority press down on you before releasing your hair and pushing you back against his chest.

He didn't even care at the tears welling in your eyes at the pain from the yank he did to your hair. He let you sit there as he looked down at you, sitting in your mistake.