Lyra woke to sunlight she didn't remember falling asleep under.
Her apartment looked the same — white walls, city hum beyond the curtains — but everything felt different. Her wrist still tingled, faintly glowing beneath the morning light. She tried to tell herself it was a dream.
A hallucination brought on by exhaustion.
Yet when she lifted her arm, the mark remained.
A delicate pattern shaped like a coiled serpent, silver under her skin.
Her stomach dropped. "Oh God…"
The memory of last night flooded back — Rian's golden eyes, the hiss of power, the impossible world that had swallowed her whole. And his voice: It's already chosen.
"No," she whispered. "I won't let it be real."
Her phone buzzed. A text from HR Department lit the screen:
CEO has requested your presence for the executive meeting. 9:00 AM sharp.
Her pulse stuttered.
She checked the clock. 8:23.
"Of course he did," she muttered, dragging herself out of bed. "Because why not make my Monday worse?"
The elevator ride to the top floor felt longer than usual. Her reflection in the mirrored wall looked pale, haunted. She touched her wrist through the sleeve of her blazer, covering the mark.
Nothing unusual. No glow. No pulse.
Just skin. Just normal.
Just… lie.
When the elevator doors opened, the familiar hush of Draxen Global Tower greeted her — the scent of polished marble, air-conditioning, and subtle fear that always came with working under Rian Draxen.
Everyone in the hallway went silent as she passed. It wasn't new — people always noticed the boss's favorite analyst — but this morning their stares felt heavier. Like something clung to her that they couldn't name.
Her desk looked the same. Her computer, neat stacks of files, the mug she'd left behind last night.
Except… there was a white envelope on top.
Her name written in precise, slanted handwriting.
Lyra Wynthorne.
She hesitated before opening it. Inside — a single line, written in black ink:
Come to my office. Alone.
Her fingers tightened around the note.
The door to his office stood closed, its frosted glass reflecting light like a mirror. She could see the shadow of his silhouette moving behind it — tall, controlled, impossible to ignore.
She exhaled slowly, straightened her jacket, and knocked once.
"Enter."
His voice carried through the glass — deep, smooth, familiar.
Too familiar.
When she stepped inside, the air shifted again, just like last night. The scent of sandalwood and something colder, darker, filled the space.
Rian Draxen stood by the window, city light cutting across his sharp features. In the morning, he looked almost human again — immaculate suit, calm expression, a picture of power and control. But Lyra knew better now.
She'd seen the truth beneath that skin.
"Miss Wynthorne," he said, turning slightly. "You're late."
Her throat tightened. "By four minutes."
His lips curved, almost into a smile. "You're learning precision."
He motioned to the seat across his desk. She sat, trying to ignore how her wrist warmed again the moment their eyes met.
Rian's gaze flicked down to her covered arm, then back to her face. "How's your hand?"
She swallowed. "It's fine."
"Liar."
Her pulse jumped. "Excuse me?"
"You're trying to convince yourself last night didn't happen." His tone wasn't mocking — just quietly observant, like he could see through every word she hadn't said. "But that mark binds truth, Lyra. To deny it only strengthens the pull."
She clenched her fists under the desk. "I didn't ask for any of this."
"No one ever does."
He leaned back in his chair, shadows curling across his jawline. "But now that it's happened, you need to understand the consequences."
"Consequences?" she echoed, her voice unsteady. "For what—touching you?"
"For being chosen," he said simply. "The serpent recognizes only one bond in a lifetime."
Her heart stopped.
"What… what does that mean?"
He didn't answer. Not with words. Just looked at her — long enough for her to feel the heat crawl up her spine, that impossible, invisible thread tugging between them.
When she finally found her voice, it came out as a whisper. "You're saying… I'm—"
"Bound," he said. "To me."
Silence swallowed the room.
Outside, the city roared — cars, sirens, the living hum of humanity. But inside, between the predator and the girl marked by fate, time refused to move.
And Lyra Wynthorne realized, with a quiet, terrified clarity,
that the most dangerous place in the world… was sitting across from him.
Lyra's heart wouldn't steady, no matter how many deep breaths she took.
Every second in that office felt heavier than the last—every glance, every silence, every quiet inhale between them.
Rian Draxen had always been intense, but this was different.
Now, his presence pressed against her skin, like gravity bending toward him.
"I read the reports," she said quickly, desperate to sound normal. "The numbers from the finance division were inconsistent—"
"You came here to talk about numbers?"
His tone was soft, but the edge in it made her spine stiffen.
"Yes," she said, keeping her voice even. "That's my job."
He rose from his chair.
For a moment, she thought he was going to circle the desk like he always did when giving instructions. But instead, he walked closer—too close—until the polished wood between them no longer felt like a barrier, just an illusion.
"Look at me," he said.
She hesitated. "Mr. Draxen—"
"Rian."
The name struck her like static. Her pulse leapt. "What?"
"When the bond forms," he said quietly, "formality becomes… irrelevant."
Her breath caught. She forced herself to meet his eyes—and instantly regretted it. The gold was back, faint but shimmering like liquid metal beneath human brown. Her instincts screamed to look away.
Predator. Dangerous. Beautiful.
"I told you," she whispered. "I don't want this."
"I know."
He stopped an inch away, the faintest trace of his cologne—clean, cold—blurring her thoughts. "But wanting has nothing to do with it."
Something flickered across his expression—conflict, restraint, hunger.
The kind of look that could unravel anyone foolish enough to meet it too long.
"Why me?" she asked, barely audible.
Her voice trembled, and she hated it. "Why would your… serpent choose me?"
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze dropped, tracing the edge of her sleeve where the mark hid.
"It doesn't choose based on logic," he said at last. "It senses… resonance. A frequency of spirit. When it finds a match, it binds."
"A match," she repeated, disbelieving. "I'm not your match. I'm your employee."
The faintest smile touched his lips. "That's exactly what I told myself."
Lyra took a shaky step back, but the room seemed to narrow.
The air itself grew heavier, warmer.
She felt it again—that invisible thread tightening between them, the bond tugging at something deep inside her chest.
"Stop it," she said, breathless. "Whatever this is—stop."
"I can't." His voice lowered, rougher now. "The bond responds to proximity. The serpent inside me… it knows you're near."
Her pulse thundered. "Then maybe I should leave."
"Maybe you should," he said—but he didn't move. His eyes told a different truth. The hunger wasn't about control. It was instinct. The beast behind his calm façade was fighting to stay contained.
She turned to go—then froze as he spoke again, softly but commandingly:
"Lyra."
She stopped.
Her name sounded different in his mouth—like an invocation, or a promise.
The air shifted. The windows trembled faintly, as if reacting to something unseen. Lyra's mark pulsed under her sleeve, glowing faintly through the fabric. She felt his energy ripple toward her—hot and cold all at once.
He exhaled sharply, fists clenched at his sides. "Damn it. I'm losing control."
"Control of what?" she whispered, not sure she wanted the answer.
Rian looked up, and for one terrifying instant, the mask slipped.
Gold eyes. Slitted pupils.
A faint shimmer of scales along his jaw before vanishing.
He closed his eyes, forcing a breath through clenched teeth.
"Get out," he said quietly. "Before I forget who I'm supposed to be."
Lyra backed toward the door, heart hammering. "You're—"
"Go, Lyra."
She hesitated—then turned and fled the office, her heels echoing down the marble corridor.
When the door shut behind her, silence fell again.
Rian stayed by the window, hands braced against the glass, eyes still burning with a restrained glow.
Outside, the city moved on as if nothing had changed.
But deep beneath the calm, the serpent inside him hissed in warning, restless and awake.
And in the distance, through walls and chaos and time,
the mark on Lyra's wrist pulsed—
answering his.