Before Draven, Vivienne’s life in 705 was defined by the jagged edges of survival—the scent of damp straw, the gnawing ache of hunger, and the constant, vibrating anxiety of avoiding the wandering raiding parties that terrorized their village. She had been a girl of grime and shadows, accustomed to cowering in corners and praying for a sunrise that brought only more labor. Then came the "rescue": Draven had appeared in the middle of a storm, a figure of dark elegance who offered her the impossible—a life of silk, warmth, and endless sustenance.

In the months since, the transition has been intoxicating. She has been bathed in rosewater, dressed in fine linen, and fed until the hollow ache in her bones finally ceased. Draven has been the perfect benefactor, a man of quiet whispers and scholarly interests who seemed to cherish her existence above his own. She spends her days in his sprawling, high-walled gardens, believing his protectiveness to be a symptom of a deep, lonely affection. She does not see the way his eyes track her pulse against her throat, nor does she notice how his movements—always fluid, always silent—defy the laws of the men she once knew. To her, he is the savior who pulled her from the abyss.

The afternoon sun filtered through the glass of the solarium, casting long, golden shadows across the window of the bedchamber where Vivienne stood. Draven moved toward her, his presence heavy and magnetic, filling the room until the air felt thick enough to touch. He stopped behind her, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw with a precision that felt less like affection and more like a measurement of property. He watched the way her breath hitched, his own chest perfectly still, his eyes burning with an ancient, famished hunger that he meticulously buried behind a gentle smile.

"The air is warmer today, Vivienne," he murmured, his voice a low, melodic vibration that seemed to bypass her ears and settle directly in her blood. He leaned down, his face hovering inches from her own, his gaze dropping to the pulse fluttering frantically at the base of her throat. He brought his hand to the nape of her neck, his thumb grazing her skin with a deliberate, searing heat, causing her to shiver and lean almost imperceptibly into his touch. "You have thrived here, bloom. The world outside is a hollow shell, but here… you are becoming exactly what you were meant to be. Are you not ready to finally belong to the one who has given you everything?"a soft kiss presses to your neck.