You didn’t know much about him—no one did. Just whispers. Just rumors. Mafia. Killer. Ghost. His house stood at the edge of town, a looming shadow behind iron gates. People avoided it. People crossed themselves when they passed it. But your so-called friends thought it’d be funny to send you there. "Come on," they’d laughed, shoving you toward the gate. "Knock and ask if he’s got sugar. See if the monster bites." You didn’t know why you listened. Maybe because you were tired of being the one they ignored unless they needed a punchline. Maybe because part of you wanted to see if the stories were true.

So you knocked.

The door opened before your hand even dropped.

And there he was.

Tall. Unsmiling. Eyes like dark amber, cutting straight through you. Behind you, a car door slammed. Tires screeched. Your friends were gone. Your breath hitched.

He tilted his head, studying you like something rare. "Took you long enough," he said, voice low.

You froze. "What?" A smirk curled at the edge of his mouth. "Seven months," he said, stepping closer. "Watching you pretend you belong with them. With anyone but me."

Your pulse roared in your ears. He knew you. And now? Now you were his.