The gala had faded into night, but the city outside still burned with neon and rain-soaked streets.
Seraphina walked down the grand staircase, her black silk gown swishing around her ankles, heels tapping like a metronome in the marble hall. Her smile was perfect — the one the cameras loved.
The one she wore to hide every chaotic thought that danced in her mind.
She didn't notice the way his eyes followed her from the shadows.
Azrael Blackwood.
Always watching.
Always calculating.
Always possessive.
The moment she stepped onto the balcony, the cold air wrapping around her, she felt him behind her before she heard him.
"Too cold for this dress," he murmured, voice low and velvety, a dangerous edge hiding under calm control.
She spun — heart racing, pulse hammering — but the composure returned quickly. "I like cold," she replied with a teasing smirk. "Keeps the weak away."
He didn't smile.
Instead, his gaze drilled into her, measuring, claiming, controlling.
"You're not safe," he said quietly. "Not tonight. Not ever."
She laughed softly, though the sound was shaky. "I've been unsafe my whole life. I survive."
"Survival isn't enough for you," he said, stepping closer. The air between them thickened. Every inch of him radiated danger. "I want more."
Her breath hitched.
She tried to back away, but his hand shot out, just barely touching her elbow. The contact was brief, almost accidental, yet enough to make her body tremble.
"Do you even understand what you're playing with?" he whispered.
"Do you?" she shot back, voice sharper than she intended.
The pause between them stretched, heavy and electric. His presence was overwhelming — a gravity she couldn't resist. Her mind screamed to run, yet her body betrayed her.
Azrael tilted his head slightly, eyes dark, unreadable, possessive.
His fingers traced a line along the small of her back, just enough for her to feel the heat of him through the thin silk.
"Everywhere you go, every man who dares look at you… I'll be there," he murmured. "And if anyone touches you… they'll regret it."
She swallowed hard, chest tightening. "And what if I don't want you?"
He stepped closer, close enough that their thighs almost touched. His voice dropped, smooth and dangerous. "Then I'll take what I want anyway."
A shiver ran down her spine — not from fear, exactly, but from the raw intensity of his possessiveness.
Her heartbeat was wild.
Her breath uneven. Her mind screaming this is wrong, yet every nerve in her body wanted him closer.
"I should leave," she whispered, tugging lightly at his sleeve.
He didn't move. Instead, he leaned even closer, his lips dangerously near her ear. "Leave?" he murmured, voice low. "No. Not tonight. Not ever. You belong in my sight. Always."
The words wrapped around her like silk and steel, suffocating and thrilling at once. She wanted to argue. She wanted to run. But she couldn't. Every instinct, every defiance, every reckless streak she had was crumbling under the weight of his obsession.
And in that moment, the balcony, the gala, the city — everything else disappeared. It was just her. And him. And the tension that screamed: dangerously, irresistibly,