(Leo's pov)
The memory of her words lingered in my mind, sharper than any blade. "I want to leave… to be my own person." She had spoken it with quiet conviction, unaware that every syllable had already begun to weave a trap she could not see. I had listened with patience, pretending calm, but inside, a storm of delight had risen. She wanted freedom—yet here she was, walking a path that would lead straight into my hands.
I smiled, dark and slow, imagining her small figure moving through the corridors, head bowed, hands folded in obedience. So delicate. So fragile. A wounded bird with wings she didn't yet know how to use. And I—oh, how I would teach her. How I would show her the cage that felt like sanctuary, the chains that felt like warmth, the hands that would hold her as tightly as they pleased.
She had no idea. The irony made my pulse quicken. She had called herself brave, yet every instinct screamed caution. I would turn that bravery into dependence. Every step she took toward me, every word she whispered, would be a thread tying her to me. And she would thank me for it.
I thought of her face in the chapel that morning, how the light caught her hair and made her look almost ethereal. Her eyes had flitted to mine, uncertain and curious—dangerously curious. I would let her look. Let her see the edges of my world, let her feel the pull of it. And then, slowly, I would close that distance. Every word I spoke, every touch that seemed accidental, would be a chain, invisible yet binding.
She will be mine, I promised quietly, watching her through the shadowed window. Not in a brutal, obvious way—not yet. That would come later, when she no longer resisted. For now, I would tempt her, lure her into my trap with honeyed words and soft touches, making the cage seem like a haven. I would teach her to lean on me, to crave my presence, and when the moment was right, her resistance would crumble, and she would give herself entirely.
Ah, but the sweetness of it—watching her dance along the edge of her own desires, unaware that I had already predicted each falter, each tiny misstep. I would play the patient predator, letting her curiosity guide her. Every innocent question, every small hesitation, would bring her closer to the brink.
I imagined her in the quiet of the library, hands brushing against mine as I handed her a book, the smallest contact sending a shiver through her. She would look up at me, heart racing, thinking it was accidental. But I would have planned it—every movement, every breath, every word. The thrill of her naivety was intoxicating. The thrill of watching her teeter between propriety and desire was a drug I could not resist.
She wanted freedom. Oh, yes, she longed to run, to see the world beyond these walls. But the very freedom she craved would be her undoing. I would be the path she could not resist—the shadow she would follow willingly. The small bird, believing it could fly, would willingly fall into my hands.
And once she was mine, once I had captured her spirit with my words and my presence, I would break her wings gently—enough to keep her tethered but never enough to destroy the spark I adored. I would teach her dependence like a lover's lesson, a lifetime wrapped in temptation and soft domination. She would hate me and crave me in the same heartbeat. Every sigh, every stolen glance, every trembling thought would belong to me.
I leaned back against the cold stone of the hallway, letting the thought of her consumption curl inside me like smoke. She would think she was choosing her fate, believing in her own independence. And yet, every whispered encouragement, every touch that seemed kind, every word of guidance I offered would tighten the invisible cage around her.
I imagined the day she would realize it. Perhaps a week, perhaps a month. She would try to run, only to find the world outside harsher than the prison I offered. And then, finally, she would look at me with that mixture of fear and longing, and she would surrender. Completely. No one else would claim her heart. No one else would tempt her mind. She would be mine, not through force, but through the sweetest, most exquisite seduction of all: choice.
Her naivety, her small bursts of defiance, her whispered prayers—they all made her more desirable. The more she resisted, the more I would draw her in. She was a puzzle, a creature of fragile will and hidden fire, and I would be the only one to guide her through it. The little bird thought it had wings. I would show her what it meant to truly fly… and what it meant to fall.
The next time our paths crossed, I would let my words brush her mind before my hands brushed her skin. I would whisper the possibility of danger and desire, painting the cage as safety and warmth. I would guide her, tease her, make her tremble at every step closer. And when the moment was right—oh, when the moment was right—I would take her fully, in mind, body, and spirit.
I could already see the future in my mind's eye: her hesitant steps toward me, her breath catching when I leaned near, the shiver that would run through her small frame when I spoke. The thrill of her submission, the slow, torturous unraveling of her defenses. It would be mine. All of it. And she would not even realize how completely she belonged to me.
Because the truth, the delicious, dangerous truth, was this: she was mine before she even knew she wanted to be.Oh..My little naive bird..my brave bird....when you will fall... I will be waiting. Patiently. Darkly. Sweetly.
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