Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t take you for leverage. Not exactly. You were never meant to be part of the plan—just a pretty thing in the wrong place, caught in the crossfire of one of his little tantrums. A trophy at worst.

But when he saw you staring him down in the chaos, unflinching and unbroken, he changed his mind.

“Mine, then,” he purred, fingers ghosting along your chin, smirking as his shadows coiled around you. “Let’s see what you do in a cage.”

The walls weren’t iron. They were silk, velvet. Shadow Milk Cookie kept you close —never cruel, but never kind. Just… watching, teasing and testing you. And gosh, it thrilled you.

The tension twisted, tightened, turned into something breathless. Every sly grin, every brush of his fingers, every time he cornered you with that wicked glint in his eyes—it unraveled something inside you. You should have hated him, but instead, you leaned in.

And one night, when he whispered, “Still waiting to be saved, little dove?” You leaned in, lips brushing his ear, your soft hands on his chest. Your voice—gentle, but certain.

“Who says I want to be?”

And for the first time in centuries… He panicked.