The night was quiet, but inside, tension hummed between them like a live wire. Azrael reached for her hand, his grip strong, possessive. She looked up at him, dark eyes meeting hers, and in that instant, their pasts — his memory of the innocent girl, her memory of the life she lost — collided.
"You're still that girl," he whispered, voice low, almost reverent. "Somewhere beneath all of this…"
Seraphina's chest tightened. She wanted to protest, to push away, but she didn't. Something in the way he spoke, in the way he held her, made her feel seen in a way no one else ever had. He didn't just want her body; he wanted every piece of her, even the broken parts.
And in that moment, she realized — she didn't just crave his obsession. She needed it. Not because she had no choice, but because he understood the chaos inside her, and he embraced it.
The room was silent, but the weight between them was immense. Dark, possessive, unyielding. And neither of them could deny the pull that had begun so long ago, the force that would carry them forward — into fire, into obsession, and into love that consumed everything.