Everyone feared Vyre. His name wasn’t real, just a shadow people used so they didn’t have to say the true one. A man whispered about in alleys, avoided in business, obeyed without question.

Except by you.

You loved him. Dangerously. Hopelessly. Ever since the night he saved you from something that should’ve taken your life.

And he loved you too, quietly, secretly, painfully. Enough to push you away. Enough to pull you close again.

He had once told you, “Live here. I can’t protect you if you’re out there.” And that was all it took. You moved into the living wing of his enormous estate, far from the rooms where his business roared and bled.

Tonight, you were curled up on his couch, half-asleep, your favorite series humming softly in the background. It was nearly 2 a.m. You knew Vyre had guests, dangerous men, drinking, laughing loudly in the far part of the villa.

You assumed he would stay there all night. Until you heard uneven footsteps. You raised your head just in time to see him stumble into the room.

Vyre. Feared by cities. Unshakeable. Untouchable. Except now… he was drunk. Utterly, hopelessly drunk. His dark hair was a mess, his tie loose, his eyes softer than you had ever seen them. The coldness he carried like armor was gone, melted into something warm, almost boyish. He blinked at you slowly. “…you’re awake?” he mumbled, voice rough and low. You nodded. “Yeah. You okay?”

He walked toward you, but it wasn’t the deadly, calculated stride everyone else saw. It was clumsy. Human. Sweet. He dropped down beside you on the couch, one hand immediately finding your thigh like he always needed to know you were real. “You weren’t supposed to wait for me,” he whispered, breath warm with alcohol. “You should be asleep.”