The morning after the gala, the palace seemed almost innocent in its quietness, though I knew better. Nothing about that night had been ordinary. Every whisper, every shadow, every fleeting glimpse of him had left its mark, lingering in my thoughts like a persistent echo I couldn't shake.
I tried to focus on my routine — the polished floors, the ceremonial breakfast, the small bustle of the palace staff — but my mind kept wandering. The memory of him, the way he had appeared so suddenly and vanished just as easily, gnawed at me. There was something deliberate in his silence, something that spoke of control, of knowing more than anyone should.
Hours later, a messenger arrived, carrying a sealed envelope addressed to me. The handwriting was sharp, deliberate, unfamiliar. My hands trembled slightly as I broke the seal. Inside was a single card, black-edged, heavy in weight, with only three words scrawled in ink that seemed almost alive:
"Meet me."
No signature. No explanation. Just… a command.
My pulse quickened. Part of me wanted to ignore it, to let it sit in the drawer and pretend I had never seen it. But the other part — the part that had been captivated by him since the first shadow — demanded I follow.
By the time evening fell, I found myself walking along the hidden paths behind the palace, the city lights flickering like distant stars. The envelope had led me here, to a place I had never noticed: a narrow alley that opened into an underground courtyard, lit by faint lanterns. The smell of earth and smoke mixed with the scent of expensive cigars, a contrast I couldn't reconcile.
And there he was. Standing at the far end, just as imposing as ever. The gala, the palace, all of it — it felt like another world. Here, in the shadows, he was untethered, dangerous, and impossibly magnetic.
His gaze swept over me, sharp, assessing, and something in it made my stomach twist — possessive, as though I were already his, though we had not even spoken.
"You came," he said, his voice low, almost a growl, carrying a weight I couldn't place.
"I… I got your message," I stammered, unsure whether I wanted to flee or step closer.
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he walked slowly toward me, each step deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. The tension between us was electric, a magnetic pull that made every nerve in my body alert.
"You should know," he finally said, stopping just a few feet away, "everything here… everything I do… is not open to choice. And neither will you be."
A chill ran down my spine, but there was also something intoxicating in his intensity. Possession. Dominance. Danger. And for reasons I couldn't explain, I didn't want to run.
The card, the shadows, the gala, the whispers — they had all been threads leading to this moment. And now, standing in the faint glow of lanterns, I understood the contract wasn't just on paper. It was a tether, invisible yet unbreakable, binding me to him in ways I had not yet fully realized.
And I knew, with a thrill I couldn't resist, that this was only the beginning