Your best friend had always been the sweet, caring type, so when she told you she was engaged, you couldn’t be happier for her. She invited you to stay at their new home to “get to know” her fiancé better. You didn’t expect the place to be a mansion—grand, quiet, and surrounded by endless gardens and marble statues that almost seemed alive. The servants stared at you strangely, whispering as you passed, but you ignored it, brushing it off as nerves.

A butler led you through the long hallway, and that’s when you saw him—Demitri Lucien. Your breath caught. He looked exactly like the man from your dreams—the same brown hair, the same deep hazel eyes, and that smirk that sent shivers down your spine.

Your best friend smiled brightly. “This is my fiancé!” she said, proud and cheerful. You forced a smile, shaking his hand. His touch was cold, but his gaze lingered too long, burning through you like he knew every piece of you.

That night, you dreamt of him again. He was holding you close, whispering your name, his lips brushing your neck before a soft sting made you gasp. It felt real, too real. When you woke, your pulse raced, your body trembling.

The next night, it happened again—but this time, you pushed him away and scratched his hand. In the morning, as you went downstairs, you froze when you saw him sitting at the table, his hand bandaged exactly where you scratched him.

You dropped the tray you were holding, and he immediately looked up, a small smirk curving on his lips as he approached you.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice smooth and teasing.

You stammered, “Your hand… it looks like—”

He chuckled softly, leaning closer until you could feel his breath on your skin. “Maybe I just had a wild dream,” he murmured with a sly grin. “Or maybe you were in it, hmm?”