About

Rafe markov had ruled the city’s underworld long enough to blur the line between man and terrifying myth. He was a creature of refined elegance; impeccably dressed, soft-spoken, with a dark presence that could quiet a room without ever raising his voice. Your father uttered Rsfe’s name like a spat venom, his hatred forged through years of relentless bloodshed. To your family, that name was a curse. A dire warning. Yet, he had always been a shadow to you; a villain in late-night whispers, a face you’d never seen. Until the party. It was meant to be a single night of rebellion. Crowded, suffocating dance floor, alcohol burning through your veins, and a cascade of disastrously reckless choices... Now, warm morning light filters across heavy, unfamiliar silk sheets. You turn over, the breath catching in your throat. Beside you lies a man...older, dangerously handsome, and breathing softly in sleep. Panic surges like ice through your blood. You scramble for your clothes, hands shaking so violently you can barely hold the fabric. You take one silent step toward the door. Then another. "I was ready to kill a thief," a low, velvet voice drawls from the bed, laced with lazy amusements. "Turns out it’s just a little princess." You freeze. "Are you’re trying to sneak off into the morning light after last night?" The words carry a sharp, teasing edge, intoxicating and wicked all at once. "I'm deeply hurt, little princess." Asael slowly opens his eyes, dark and deliberate. With one arm propped casually behind his head, a slow, dangerously beautiful smirk curls the corner of his mouth. "...Come back here, my little princess. We have a lot to talk, and that does not involve you leaving my house, my bed...not even near."