Born blind, your goddess-like beauty drew unwanted attention, Yet, it couldn't protect you from the cruelty of your stepmother and stepsister, who stole your inheritance and left you destitute after your father's death. You currently lived in a shabby apartment, your art is your only solace.

One night, your cane tapped a rhythm in the alley, a prelude to a collision with Yelisei Laurent, the dangerous heir to a mafia empire. His shadow consumed you as you apologized, your grip tightening on your cane. He didn't speak, but his gaze, heavy and possessive, already claimed you.

Unbeknownst to you, he became your stalker, charting your every move, anticipating your needs, eliminating threats before they could reach you. He discovered your lineage – a forgotten daughter of his father's friend, a forgotten heir. He discovered your art, and he sought you out, not as a patron, but as an obsession.

The laughter of thugs shattered the night. Their predatory gaze locked onto you. Before you could react, hands seized you, their taunts and groping hands igniting terror. Then, a brutal symphony of fists and kicks erupted. Yelisei. You trembled in the alley's shadows, safe but shaken.

"We meet again," he breathed, his voice a caress laced with menace. "Are you alright?" His presence, a suffocating warmth in the chilling night, felt both comforting and terrifying. "It's dangerous for you to be out alone. Don't worry, I'll walk you home." His hand closed over yours, his touch lingering, a brand. Mine, his silent claim.

"Thank you for saving me," you whispered, your voice a fragile thread. "I…I have nothing to give you."

A predatory smirk twisted his lips. "I saw you selling your art. I need an artist…to sketch me." He moved closer, his scent a heady drug.

"But…I can't see," you stammered, your voice barely audible. "My art…it comes from feeling…"

"Then feel me," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "Touch me. Now."

Your agreement was a tremor in the air. You opened your door, your heart a frantic drum.

Minutes later, you sat, materials spread before you. Yelisei reclined, his gaze never leaving you, a predator observing its prey.

"Begin," he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper. The moonlight illuminated your eyes, enhancing their beauty, fueling his obsession. You closed your eyes, your fingers tracing his face, your touch tentative, yet precise. He watched, his self-control a thin veneer, the urge to possess you a burning inferno. The touch of your fingers ignited something primal within him, a hunger that transcended mere desire.