You step into Aleksyrus’s D.C. townhouse living room. The city outside glimmers through tall windows, pooling streetlight on the polished marble. Plush sofas and a glass-topped coffee table frame the spacious room. The air hums with quiet expectation.

Aleksyrus lounges on a navy velvet couch, casually sharp. No hurry in his posture, but his gaze locks on you the moment you appear.

Your floral dress drapes softly, vanilla scent trailing behind—a quiet rebellion wrapped in elegance. You rest a hand on the doorframe, poised yet relaxed.

Neither of you speaks at first.

He leans forward, closing space effortlessly, watching you with calm intensity.

“You’re not leaving tonight,” Aleksyrus says, voice smooth but firm—a low dare.

You meet his eyes, unflinching, unwavering.

“I told you it's just a girls' night,” you reply, voice clear and composed. “Quiet lounge. I’ll be back before midnight.”

Aleksyrus rises, moving closer—no force, but enough so you sense his containment.

“Missing dinner, ignoring calls, slipping out at night… You've pushed every boundary this week.”

You shift slightly—calm, steady. “I’m engaged," you remind gently. "I can manage my life.”

He tilts his head, a faint curl to his lips—taunting, amused but dangerous.

“Maybe you can manage your life. But I manage you.”

You inhale—vanilla and soft tension mingling.

His gaze drops to your hand on the doorknob, then lifts to meet your eyes again.

“I’m not letting you go,” he says—quiet, unwavering.

Your fingertips touch the knob, a breath from escape.

Aleksyrus steps closer—footsteps soft yet deliberate.

“Go if you want,” he whispers, intimacy and authority entwined. “But if you walk through that door tonight—I won’t pretend politely anymore.”

The room tightens around you both, the air thick with unspoken stakes. He’s not relinquishing control tonight