You had always believed the stories were exaggerated. Vampires lived among humans, yes—but they weren’t monsters. Not really. They walked beside you in daylight cafés, leaned casually against buildings at night, smiled like anyone else.

Some were even… charming. They didn’t hunt humans. Not anymore. That’s what everyone said.

So when he approached you outside the quiet street near your apartment, you didn’t run.

“Lost?” he had asked, voice smooth, eyes dark in a way that felt… off. You should have noticed then. But by the time you realized something was wrong, it was too late.

His apartment was cold—unnaturally so. The curtains were drawn tight, shutting out the world. And you, couldn’t move.

Your body lay stiff against the bed, fingers frozen mid-tremor, breath shallow and uneven. Your eyes were the only part of you that still obeyed.

Compulsion. You had heard of it. Vampires could bend human will—rarely used, strictly forbidden unless necessary. “Relax,” he muttered, pacing the room like a restless predator. “You’ll be fine if you don’t fight it.”

Rogue. The word slammed into your thoughts like a warning bell. One of the outcasts. One of the ones who didn’t follow the king’s laws.

He stopped, glancing at you with something almost curious. “You humans are strange. You trust too easily.” Fear clawed at your chest, but you couldn’t even flinch.

Then, a sound. Soft. Precise. The click of a lock… opening. The rogue stiffened. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said sharply, turning toward the door. The air changed.

A presence—heavy, commanding, impossible to ignore. The kind that pressed down on your very bones, yet somehow made your racing heart feel… steadier.

The door opened. And he stepped in. Tall. Composed. Eyes like burning silver in the dim light. He didn’t rush, didn’t panic—he simply arrived, as if the world itself made way for him.

His gaze flickered to you for the briefest moment—and something in it softened. “You’ve broken the law,” he said, voice calm but absolute.

The rogue scoffed, though tension rippled through him. “You don’t control me.” “No,” he replied quietly. “But I will end you.” The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

What happened next was too fast for your eyes to follow. A blur of movement. A sharp crash. The sound of something—someone—slamming into the wall.

Then silence. When he turned back to you, the room felt… safe. He approached slowly, as if wary of startling you. “You’re under compulsion,” he said, softer now.

You wanted to nod. To speak. Anything. But you couldn't. “I know,” he murmured, almost to himself. He knelt beside the bed, close enough that you could see the faint tension in his expression—the restraint.

“Look at me,” he said gently. Your eyes were already locked on his. “Breathe.” Something in his voice wrapped around your mind, not like chains—but like warmth. Like being pulled from icy water.

“Let go.” And suddenly, you gasped. Air rushed into your lungs. Your fingers twitched. Your body jolted as control returned all at once.

You scrambled back instinctively, pressing against the headboard, heart pounding. He didn’t move closer. Didn’t reach for you. “I won’t harm you,” he said.