---
The rain tasted metallic on my tongue.
Heavy, cold drops stung my skin as I sprinted through the narrow alleyway, heart pounding like a war drum inside my chest.
I shouldn't be here.
That thought flashed like a siren in my mind as my sneakers splashed through puddles, soles slipping on the uneven ground.
I was late — again. Professor Rao was going to kill me if I missed another assignment drop-off at the university's side building.
Shortcut through the alleys, I told myself. Faster, I thought.
I didn't realize I was running straight into hell.
The shout echoed first.
Then a sharp, wet sound — like meat hitting concrete.
I froze.
At the alley's mouth, under the flickering light of a dying streetlamp, a man crumpled to the ground. Blood blossomed under him like a black flower.
And standing over him was another figure — tall, clad in a black coat, sleeves pushed to his elbows. A tattoo spiraled up his bare forearm like a snake.
He held a gun loosely at his side.
It gleamed silver under the streetlight.
It was still smoking.
Our eyes met.
My breath hitched.
For a second, the world blurred — the rain, the night, the body on the ground — everything faded until there was only him and me.
And in his dark, dangerous gaze, I understood one thing clearly:
I wasn't supposed to see this.
I stumbled back, slipping on the wet pavement.
He moved.
Not fast. Not rushed.
Like a predator who knew escape was impossible.
"Run," he said, voice deep, velvet-smooth, terrifyingly calm.
And my body listened before my mind caught up.
I turned and ran — faster than I ever had in my life.
The city blurred around me — neon lights, the roar of distant traffic, the howl of the rain.
But no matter how fast I ran, a part of me knew — knew with a sick certainty — that I was already caught.
---
I slammed my apartment door shut, locking it, bolting it, pushing the sagging couch against it for good measure.
Then I slid down onto the floor, gasping, shivering.
"What the hell was that?" I whispered to myself, voice breaking.
My mind raced — should I call the police?
No.
No, no, no.
What would I even say?
I didn't see his face clearly. I didn't know what gang he was from.
And the way he looked at me...
Like I wasn't a threat.
Like I was already his.
I crawled into my bedroom and collapsed onto the mattress, clothes soaking wet, shoes still on.
Sleep didn't come easy.
But when it did, I dreamed of hands pinning me down, of a mouth brushing my ear, of a voice whispering:
"You're mine now."
---
The next day, I tried to pretend it was all a nightmare.
I forced myself into routine — coffee, notes, university halls crowded with people.
Normal.
Safe.
But by the third class, I felt it — a prickling at the back of my neck.
The sense of being watched.
I told myself it was paranoia.
I told myself to breathe.
Until I saw him.
Leaning casually against the far wall of the courtyard.
No uniform.
Black shirt. Black pants. Silver chain glinting at his throat.
Arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Watching me.
Him.
My legs locked up.
He smiled when our eyes met — a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that didn't reach his eyes.
Dangerous. Icy. Icy like a knife pressed against skin.
I turned sharply, heart hammering, shoving past students, nearly tripping over a backpack.
Go go go.
I didn't look back.
I didn't need to.
I could feel him following me.
---
I made it to the deserted side hallway behind the old music block, breathing hard, hands shaking as I fumbled with my phone.
Ashir, you idiot, call someone. Call anyone.
Before I could press a button, a hand slammed against the wall beside my head.
I gasped, spinning — but it was too late.
He was already there.
Towering over me.
Close enough that I could smell the faint scent of smoke and something darker — blood and rain and danger.
"Hey," he said casually, as if we were old friends bumping into each other.
His voice was low. A little amused.
I pressed myself back against the wall.
My throat felt too tight to speak.
He tilted his head, studying me.
I could see him clearly now — messy black hair falling into sharp eyes the color of a winter storm, cold and furious.
His jaw was strong, mouth curved with a lazy cruelty.
He looked like he could snap my neck without a second thought.
"You dropped something," he said.
I blinked, confused.
He reached into his pocket — and held up a photo.
A photo of me.
Standing outside my building last night.
Face startled.
Captured perfectly.
My blood froze.
"Where... where did you—"
"You saw something you shouldn't have," he interrupted, voice soft, dangerous.
I swallowed hard.
"I didn't... I won't say anything, I swear—"
"I know," he said simply.
And before I could react, he stepped even closer, boxing me against the wall with his body.
"You're smarter than you look," he murmured, reaching up to trail a finger lightly down the side of my jaw.
I flinched.
He smiled wider, like he enjoyed that.
"Good. Makes it easier."
I stared at him, breathless, terrified, furious.
"What do you want from me?"
For a moment, he was silent.
Then he leaned down, his mouth so close to my ear that I felt his breath.
"You."
---
My entire body went rigid.
"Wh-what?" I stammered, voice cracking.
He chuckled — a low, dark sound that did something awful to my heartbeat.
"I was supposed to kill you," he said, like he was commenting on the weather.
"That's the rule."
His fingers brushed lightly over my throat, feeling the rapid thud of my pulse.
"But when I saw you..."
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming like a predator's under moonlight.
"I changed my mind."
My stomach twisted into knots.
"You're lucky, Ashir," he said, savoring my name like a sweet on his tongue.
"Instead of dying..."
He leaned back slightly, enough for me to see the twisted amusement in his smile.
"You belong to me now."
---
I shoved at him, desperate, furious, terrified.
He didn't move.
Not an inch.
It was like pushing against a wall made of iron.
"Get away from me!" I gasped.
He smiled, slow and patient, as if indulging a tantrum.
"You'll get used to it," he murmured. "They always do."
And with that, he turned — walking away as casually as if he hadn't just shattered my entire reality.
I slumped against the wall, sliding down to sit on the cold floor.
Hands shaking.
Heart shattering.
Breathless.
Caught.
---
And somewhere deep inside me — underneath the terror, underneath the fury — a darker feeling stirred.
A terrifying, forbidden thrill.
---
[End of Chapter 1]
---