𝔄 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔢𝔣 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔐𝔞𝔫'𝔰 𝔇𝔢𝔫 (𝔏𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔲𝔪97 & 𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔢 )

[Lilium97]

Lilium crouched low behind the dense hedges that bordered the sprawling mansion, her silver hair glinting faintly in the moonlight. The crisp night air carried a faint hint of freshly cut grass, mingling with the sharp tang of iron from the decorative gate that stood tall and imposing before her. For weeks, she had studied this place, memorizing every inch of the exterior and every detail of the man who resided within.

The mansion itself was a masterpiece of isolation and wealth. Built of dark stone and towering over its lush grounds, it exuded an air of quiet power. Its high, arched windows gleamed faintly, reflecting the dim light of a waning moon. Ivy clung to its sides, adding a hint of wildness to the otherwise pristine structure. The silence surrounding it was near oppressive, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl and the soft rustle of leaves in the wind.

The man who lived here—red-haired, pale-skinned, and unnervingly fit—had been an enigma to Lilium. Watching him from the shadows day and night had become an art form. She had observed his strict routines with a predator's focus: his early mornings, which always seemed as if he were asleep (perhaps he worked during the nights?), his afternoons, and the evenings where he would disappear into his study, lights glowing faintly until late at night.

But tonight was different. He was leaving. She knew this had been a trip long planned, for he had started packing a week or so ago. His usual precise demeanor had been tinged with a sense of urgency, his movements brisk. Lilium had waited another thirty minutes after his departure, her heart thrumming in her chest as she scanned the mansion for any sign of lingering activity. Nothing. No lights. No movement.

This was her moment.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she approached the gate, its cold metal biting into her skin as she touched it. She had watched him key in the gate code dozens of times from a hidden vantage point, and now she entered it with practiced ease. The faint beep and the soft mechanical click of the lock disengaging sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through her. She slipped inside, her boots making no sound against the gravel path.

The air inside the grounds was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and freshly watered soil. She inhaled deeply, savoring the moment, before her focus shifted back to the task at hand. The mansion loomed before her, a fortress of secrets and luxury, and her target for the night.

Reaching the side entrance—a door partially obscured by a climbing rose bush—she crouched again, her tools at the ready. She had memorized the alarm system during her weeks of surveillance, noting how the red-haired man would input the codes in a practiced sequence. Her fingers danced over the keypad, punching in the numbers with a precision born of necessity. The soft, almost imperceptible hum of the alarm system died out, leaving her in silence once more.

The door creaked faintly as she pushed it open, and Lilium froze, her breath caught in her throat. The mansion's interior greeted her with an overwhelming stillness, the kind that made her hyper-aware of every sound she made. Her boots brushed against polished wood flooring as she stepped inside, her movements careful, deliberate.

The air inside was cool and carried a faint aroma of leather and aged wood, mingled with something else—his scent. It was subtle but unmistakable, a blend of cedar and something sharp, like fresh citrus. It clung to the space like a ghost, making her acutely aware that this was his domain, his sanctuary.

The entryway opened into a grand hall, where an opulent crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling. Its intricate design threw fragmented light across the walls, which were adorned with oil paintings that looked older than the house itself. A marble staircase wound upwards in a graceful spiral, its railing gleaming under the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the high windows.

Her pulse quickened as she moved further inside, her footsteps muffled by the thick Persian rug that stretched across the floor. Every creak of the wooden floorboards beneath sent a jolt of nerves through her, but she pressed on. The mansion's opulence was almost suffocating—gold accents on furniture, velvet drapes that looked as though they belonged in a royal palace, and the faint scent of lavender that seemed to emanate from somewhere unseen.

She made her way toward the living room, her eyes scanning everything with the precision of someone who had lived on the run for far too long. The leather couches were plush and inviting, arranged around a massive stone fireplace that had probably warmed countless cold nights. She trailed her fingers over the leather armrest of the couch, the material smooth and cool against her skin.

Her stomach growled faintly, reminding her of just how long it had been since her last proper meal. The kitchen would be her next stop. But for now, she allowed herself a moment to revel in her success. The mansion was hers for as long as she could keep it.

Lilium's eyes flicked to the staircase. She'd noticed the man spending most of his time upstairs, and curiosity gnawed at her. She ascended slowly, the wooden steps creaking faintly under her weight despite her careful movements. Each sound made her heart lurch, but the thought of what might await her at the top kept her moving forward.

The upper floor was no less extravagant. She found herself in a hallway lined with more paintings and doors that likely led to guest rooms. But one door, larger than the others and slightly ajar, drew her in. The master bedroom.

Pushing the door open, she stepped inside and was greeted by a space that felt as much like a sanctuary as it did a display of wealth. The bed was massive, draped in dark, silken sheets that looked like they would swallow her whole. A faint hint of the man's scent lingered here as well, stronger than anywhere else in the house. It made her stomach twist with an emotion she couldn't quite name—unease, perhaps, or the faintest flicker of guilt.

She shook the thought away and moved toward the walk-in closet. Rows upon rows of impeccably tailored suits and other clothing greeted her, along with shelves lined with shoes that looked like they had never seen a day of hard wear.

This place was a treasure trove, and for now, it was hers.

Lilium exhaled slowly, her body relaxing for the first time in what felt like days. She couldn't help but smile, a rare moment of triumph lighting her features. This was more than just a break-in. It was a brief escape from the constant fear and hunger that had defined her life since she'd run away. For however long it lasted, she would live like a queen.

But deep down, a sliver of unease lingered. Something about the man—his precision, his demeanor—had unsettled her during her surveillance. Something... And, oh. Wasn't it strange, that there seemed to be no mirrors in the house at all? Just to make sure, the silver eyed woman checked the bathroom. Nope, no mirrors. What a strange man.. Perhaps just eccentric? It did nothing to ease her unsettled mind, but she was sure she would become comfortable in this castle in no time..

 

[Staine]

Andrei was methodical as he packed the bags, making sure he had everything he needed. It was rare for him to leave his home, even rarer now that he had everything he needed delivered to him but sometimes things just required his attention.

Andrei was old...he didn't look it of course, that was the benefit of being a vampire, eternal youth, eternal beauty if you had any to begin with. Eternal life. Born in Romania he had a troubled childhood, he'd been raised by parents that couldn't afford to even feed themselves properly and had just been another mouth, a burden. They'd loved him still, and for that he'd been grateful but going to bed hungry every night, living off scraps and knowing that for every crust of bread he ate one of his parents went hungry that night, in a house that could barely be called a home. Nobody would give a good job to the malnourished and impoverished, filthy man that was his father, a man that had lost his hand already after being caught stealing bread, so they'd had to beg, sometimes steal to get what they needed. In the winter they had another enemy to deal with, the cold itself. They couldn't afford glass windows or to repair the brittle shutters they had to cover the empty holes they called windows and their house had more holes than that, missing planks of wood clumsily patched with whatever was available to let in the biting chill. Andrei had only one blanket, it was thin and dirty and barely offered protection.

Life had been cruel.

When he was of age, he'd managed to get the only thing he'd ever truly wanted...stability. The King had needed soldiers, there were wars being threatened, they had enemies at their borders and Andrei had been there when the soldiers had come to his village. They could have conscripted them, forced them into a militia but the King was wealthy and while likely not a generous man he wasn't a fool, he knew that men fought harder when they had something to lose so joining had been handsomely rewarded. Andrei had taken the chance, and found a new home with his fellow soldiers. He kept only a little of what he was paid, sending most back to his parents and for a while he'd been satisfied. For the first time in his life he was eating well, he had friends, he was warm. That had been the next decade, almost two of his life. He fought when he had to, he enjoyed his time away from the fighting more, but eventually he'd been sent beyond the borders. A new King, younger and more brash had wanted more territory, and so Andrei and his men had found themselves in France.

They moved from camp to camp on the frontlines, then deeper, infiltrating enemy territory until they'd come across an old looking vineyard. Looking for warmth and wine Andrei and his men had let themselves in, taken the workers and locked them all up in the cellar after carrying all the wine out and they had been drunk when the monster had set upon them...a woman wearing nothing but a white dress that had quickly become stained and soaked in the blood of his men. Nothing seemed to stop her, crossbow bolts, swords, axes...she'd moved like quicksilver, slipping through their grasps and while he hadn't been able to get a good look at her he swore she didn't even have a weapon and yet one by one his men fell clutching deep, fatal wounds. He tried to hit her, he used almost twenty years of training and experience and it was like fighting smoke as his men fell all around him and then it was just the two of them. He felt the hand around his throat, his eyes growing wide as he was lifted off his feet with one hand by this slip of a woman, slender and harmless looking if it were not for the blood soaked nightdress she wore. As one last attempt before he died he had plunged his sword into her chest and then everything had gone black...

He'd woken with her stroking his hair and a ravenous hunger he'd never felt before. Everything felt different...he felt warm yet cold at the same time, the silk sheets felt like sandpaper and he could hear sounds that couldn't possible be happening in the room as though they were right next to him. Every sense was heightened to a ridiculous degree, it took him a while to realize that there was no lighting in the room they were in and yet he could see perfectly every detail on her face. Caroline's face. He'd quickly learned that it was impossible to resist her...when she told him to do something, he had to obey or he would feel a deep longing inside that would grow and grow, not quite pain but equally distressing. Over the next couple of centuries he didn't age and his new-found strength was used for utter depravity...Caroline would take him out at night, for he could barely stand the rays of the sun anymore for more than a minute...and they would find innocent men and women to bring back to the vineyard. Pain, pleasure, glutenous indulgence in his new source of life, in blood...the years all blended together as his humanity was stripped from him by the acts he was forced to partake in until finally the vineyard came under attack, burned to the ground during the middle of the day. He barely escaped with his life, stole away on a ship to the new world, to America.

He'd been here since. Caroline, he assumed, had burned with the rest of that place and he was grateful for that, because without her corrupting presence and irresistible demands he had been able to reclaim something of himself. He isolated, not wanting to expose any more than he had to to what he had become. He'd managed to take away some wealth with him and he'd obtained much more since then through investments and thievery...it had taken a few years before he'd stopped killing, the previous owners of this mansion had been the last as he'd taken what was theirs, and spent the last two hundred years in his new home. He rarely left, he used the powers afforded to him by being a vampire to obtain what he needed and have it brought to him...he wasn't good with technology but he had a computer and had learned to order that which he couldn't get normally and to check the news sites. That was why he was packing...strange things had been happening in a small town he knew only too well, he'd read a story of disappearances around a vineyard...and he felt he should investigate. Surely he was strong enough to face her now, to put an end to her, to remove the sword that hung above his head every night, the dread of her return.

He was half way to the airport when he changed his mind. He knew he was strong...vampires grew stronger with age, she'd taught him that, but she was so much older and what if she still had that pull...what if with a simple word she could make him fall to his knees again? Andrei was no coward, but the thought of what would happen if she was really alive, if she saw him coming...he would rather she assumed he was dead, he hoped she had thought him burned...it wasn't only to protect others from him that he'd isolated himself after all...so he turned back home.

It had taken him a few hours to get to the nearest airport, and a few more to get home and by the time he arrived back it was way into the early morning hours. The second he opened his door he knew somebody was in his home...the alarm was turned off which would have given it away alone but more than that he could smell her...a scent could carry so much information. It was feminine, so he was sure it was a woman...it was fresh, there was the scent of youth about it, so she was young, late teens or early twenties perhaps, or rather he hoped...he'd hate to have to kill a child. Slowly he placed his bags down and he crept quietly up the stairs towards his bedroom. He could hear her breathing, he knew she was asleep before he opened the door, and then there she was. In his bed.

She was pretty, she looked peaceful in her sleep and he was glad to see he'd been right about her age. Slowly he closed the door behind him, put his key in the lock and turned it. Andrei was reasonably sure that this girl wasn't a threat to him...he could tell when one was a vampire or something other than human by scent alone, he was also reasonably confident that she didn't know him or what he was...it seemed like a crime of convenience but it angered him...maybe it wasn't reasonable, he hadn't worked hard for what he had, he'd taken it but now it was his and he wasn't about to let it be stolen from him. He grabbed the sheet that covered her and yanked it away, throwing it to the side and with speed no mortal could ever achieve he was on her, straddling her waist, a hand on her throat. "Why are you in my home, girl? To steal from me is one thing, to treat my bed like your own...give me one good reason I shouldn't tear your throat out right fucking now." His voice was deep, growl reverberating within it as he looked down at her sternly, brows furrowed in anger.

 

[Lilium97]

Lilium jolted awake, her entire body going rigid at the sudden, crushing weight on top of her. Her chest heaved, heart hammering violently as her bleary eyes struggled to adjust to the dim light of the room. The haze of exhaustion clung to her, muddling her thoughts, but the forceful grip around her throat and the searing intensity of the man looming over her jolted her fully into reality.

Her mind raced. The man. The red-haired man. He came home early? But how? She had planned this out so carefully, had watched him leave, waited until she was certain he wouldn't return anytime soon. And yet, here he was, his broad frame pinning her in place effortlessly, his pale hand closing around her throat like a vice.

Her breath caught as her eyes focused on his face, her fear only deepening at what she saw. His features were sharp, almost too perfect—high cheekbones and a strong jawline framed by unruly red hair that gleamed even in the dim light. But it wasn't his bone structure that stole her breath; it was his eyes. They seemed to glow faintly in the shadows, their crimson hue as piercing as the blade of a dagger. She couldn't tear her gaze away, transfixed by the sheer predatory nature in those irises.

Lilium's body shook violently beneath him, her every nerve alight with terror. Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes before spilling over, tracing burning paths down her flushed cheeks. The shame of crying—of being so utterly vulnerable in front of him—only made her feel smaller, weaker. She wanted to scream, to fight, to do anything to push him off, but the strength radiating from his hand made it clear that resistance was futile. Even if she tried, she knew he could snap her neck like a twig.

Her breathing was shallow and rapid, chest rising and falling as panic clawed at her insides. Still, despite the overwhelming fear coursing through her veins, she forced her eyebrows to knit together in defiance, her jaw tightening ever so slightly. She was terrified, yes, but she couldn't—wouldn't—let herself crumble completely.

His voice rumbled low and dangerous, the growl in his tone sending a shiver down her spine. "Why are you in my home, girl? To steal from me is one thing, but to treat my bed like your own..." His grip tightened, and she felt the pressure against her windpipe increase. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't tear your throat out right fucking now."

The words struck her like a slap. She wanted to respond, to defend herself, but her mind was a whirlwind of fragmented thoughts and desperate emotions. The room seemed to shrink, the oppressive weight of his presence suffocating her as she struggled to find her voice. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out—only a shaky exhale as she tried to steady herself.

Finally, she managed to force the words out, her voice small and shaky but clear enough to be heard. "I don't have a good reason," she admitted, her tone flat yet tinged with a vulnerability she couldn't fully hide. Her throat burned as she swallowed, his grip making the action almost impossible. "I don't have one," she repeated, her gaze locking with his for a moment before darting away, unable to withstand the intensity of his glare.

The truth spilled from her like a confession, unfiltered and raw. "I broke into your house because I wanted a taste of luxury for once. That's all it is. I ran away from home... I noticed you were packing, and I thought you'd be gone for a while. I didn't think you'd come back." Her voice wavered slightly, but she pressed on, determined to get it all out. "I just... I just wanted to know how soft sheets were." The feeling of warmth. The sense of security that would have come with such a house. A home.

She felt pathetic saying it out loud, her reasoning so trivial compared to the wrath she now faced. More tears rolled down her cheeks, hot and unrelenting, but she refused to let herself completely fall apart. Her eyebrows furrowed deeper, her lips trembling despite her best efforts to keep them still. She really tried to keep her lips from quivering. She wouldn't beg. She wouldn't plead for her life. She didn't deserve to.

Her thoughts spiraled as the weight of her actions truly hit her. She had no right to be here, no justification for what she had done. She had planned this for weeks, meticulously studying him and his habits, learning the codes and systems to infiltrate his home. She had done this knowingly, fully aware of the consequences should she be caught. And yet, she had done it anyway, driven by desperation and a yearning for something—anything—better than the life she had left behind.

And now, as she lay there pinned beneath him, she realized just how deeply she had miscalculated. She should have taken into consideration the fact that he could come back. She should've waited an extra day, just in case...

A bitter laugh threatened to bubble up within her, but she choked it back, unwilling to let even a hint of hysteria slip through. What did it matter now? Whether he killed her or let her go, her life was nothing more than a series of endless struggles. She had no one, nowhere to turn, no future to hope for. Death, as terrifying as it was, seemed almost like a release.

Her voice broke through the tense silence, quiet yet resolute. "So, just do it." She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut as more tears leaked out, her chest heaving with each shaky breath. "I don't deserve mercy. I broke into your house. I planned it all out. And I would have stolen from you if you hadn't come back." Her lips quivered as she spoke, but her tone remained steady, her words a final act of defiance in the face of inevitable doom. "I wanted... a taste of something I'll never have. That's all. So just get it over with."

Her body tensed as she waited for the blow, the crushing weight of his strength bearing down on her. She braced herself, her fingers curling into the sheets beneath her as if they could somehow anchor her. The room was silent save for the sound of her ragged breathing, the tension thick and suffocating. She didn't know what would come next, but she knew one thing for certain: she had no control over her fate now. It was entirely in his hands.

It was probably better he killed her. She had nothing outside anyway, and it was probably a mercy that he was willing to kill her instead of taking his time to torture her.

 

[Staine]

Andrei waited for his answer as he held the girl down. It was effective...he was a large man, 6'3 and he weighed a little over 200 pounds, there was little this tiny little thing could do to get him off her and just in case he'd locked the door anyway...she wasn't going anywhere without answering his questions. Why was she here, why had she decided to sleep in his bed, defile his living space. In all honesty, it was obvious...she was a thief, she'd seen him leave and taken advantage of the situation to take over his home, expecting him to be back in days if not weeks. He had no doubt that if he'd gone to France and managed to return alive he'd have found his house stripped of valuables and that angered him...as somebody who had grown up with nothing Andrei had an unhealthy attachment to his possessions, to his wealth, he'd had nothing else for centuries now anyway. He didn't interact with people more than necessary, he didn't have friends or take lovers, he didn't have any work that could fulfil him or goals beyond living and survival, all the purpose in life had long since left him except the desire to hold on to what he had and to never be what Caroline had turned him in to again.

When the girl finally spoke, at least it was honest. He could feel her pulse beneath his palm as he held her by the throat, it was racing...he knew she was terrified and rightfully so and that made it difficult to use as a lie detector but he had other ways of reading people and centuries of experience...he knew when lies were being told. Not that he needed it...she simply didn't have a reason and that seemed to incense him more. Then she continued, saying she wanted to see how soft the sheets were, how they felt. He made a soft growling noise with his throat and smirked down at her. "And? Where the sheets to your satisfaction?" It was a snarky reply, but in his defence he was pissed and still trying to determine if he should just kill this girl. He hadn't drank blood from the vein in so long, it had been at least 150 years and he could feel it beneath his fingertips, he could hear it being pumped around her body...her heart racing only made the blood pump faster, only made the sweet rush of it louder in his ears and he was growing hungry.

He might have bitten her then, let his fangs extend and sank them into her neck...it looked slender, delicious...for what felt like a long time that in reality was around half a minute he was lost in the fantasy of it, of leaning down and taking her, feeling the warm, iron tang of blood flowing over his tongue and down his throat...and other things. Isolation hadn't just stopped him killing...he'd raped too, when he'd been with Caroline...she'd forced him to, and in his bloodlust he'd enjoyed it...the woman beneath him was young, beautiful, she was barely dressed and defenceless and it had been so long since he'd simply fucked somebody...he didn't hunt anymore, he didn't go out to seek his kills and satiate his hunger and lusts, not since France but when it was brought to him like this, turning up in his bed barely clothed...why should he resist?

The better part of him won over in the end. Why should he resist? Because he was better than that...because that had been the influence of his Sire, of Caroline...he'd been a good man before her, he'd tried to isolate after her to prevent that monster from returning and as tempting as the girl beneath him was he wasn't ever going back to that, he'd worked too hard to keep himself from slipping. He spent most of his time locked away in his mansion but it wasn't 100% of the time, sometimes he left, he had to physically go to the bank, he had to travel, he had to go pick up something he needed...he wasn't good with technology, he hadn't kept up as he should and delivery was not something he was accustomed to, hell he'd bought a phone to receive calls but he didn't know how to use the damn thing, the same went for his computer...and when he did go out he'd been tempted, not like this but he'd had to fight urges he wished more than anything he didn't have.

While lost in these thoughts, the girl spoke again. Told him to do it...and his grip on her throat softened. Her words resonated with him...the taste of something she'd never have, he'd felt that once so many years ago, shivering in their hovel wondering if he'd have enough food to survive the next day, if his parents would manage the same, if the cold would take his life. He sighed and released her throat though he didn't get off her, instead he started to unbutton his shirt. Clothing was one of the things he'd had to leave the house to get, clothes got worn so sometimes he just had to go shopping, his wardrobe therefore was kind of up to date. He was wearing a dark brown leather boots, black slacks that cost far more than they should and a deep red shirt, his jacket he'd left downstairs. Removing the shirt revealed how powerful he was, his toned, muscular body, a few faint scars remaining from when he'd been human, scars of battle...and he tore the shirt into strips. "I'm not going to kill you, girl, you can stop your whimpering. I don't know what I'm going to do with you yet, but I am tired and hungry and I need to sleep..." It was true, he'd been gone a while already and in an hour or so the sun would rise. His curtains would prevent the harmful rays from touching him and it wouldn't kill him anyway...just severely weaken him, it was like an extremely strong flu that he'd had as a boy when he was in direct sunlight but even just the presence of the sun, blocked by fabric, wood and stone in the comfort of his home, could be felt. Made it harder to think, brought lethargy to his limbs. He took the strips he'd made of his shirt and bound her wrists to the headboard of his bed, he gave enough slack so that she could turn and it wouldn't hurt so much, the fabric was expensive and soft, but her hands remained bound together, she'd be unlikely to get free. He climbed off her and did the same for her ankles, binding them together and he smirked as he saw her there on his bed, helpless. Once upon a time he'd enjoyed this...he liked using restraints to make his prey helpless while he enjoyed their bodies, but this served another purpose. "Get comfortable, you will not be leaving until we've spoken properly and I need rest before then...and don't make too much noise when I'm asleep or else I'll fucking gag you, am I understood, girl?" He laughed softly. "My name is Andrei. You may tell me yours tomorrow."

He didn't bother to hide himself as he took off his boots, unbuckled his trousers and pulled down his underwear. He slept naked, he had ever since he'd been in homes warm enough to allow it and he wasn't letting her presence change that for him, then he picked up the discarded sheet and climbed into the bed with her. He pulled it over them both, making sure she was covered too and grinning, feeling a little malicious after she'd broken in, he pressed against her from behind, an arm slung over her as he spooned her, held her. "Sleep. There is nothing else you can do now. And try to relax...you're safe, for now." Closing his eyes, it didn't take long to fall asleep, more comfortable than he had been in a while.

 

[Lilium97]

Lilium's cheeks burned as the man's voice cut through the suffocating tension in the room.

"And? Were the sheets to your satisfaction?" he asked, his tone sharp, almost mocking. The words sliced through her pride like a blade, and shame clawed its way up her throat, rendering her momentarily speechless. Her humiliation felt so palpable she could almost taste it. Her situation was degrading enough—unable to do anything and at this stranger's mercy—but the condescension in his voice amplified her sense of worthlessness.

She had never felt more pathetic.

Some selfish, worthless girl fresh out of high school, stealing and breaking into people's homes just for a fleeting moment of comfort. The weight of that truth pressed against her chest. But what choice had she really had? She'd run away from a family that had chewed her up and spat her out, a mother who resented her and a father who… who wanted to use and abuse her. To defile her. What else was there for a girl like her? With no money, no roof over her head, no hope?

Her voice barely rose above a whisper when she finally managed to respond, almost shocking herself with the words. "...They were."

The admission hung heavy in the air. Her eyebrows raised slightly in surprise at her own honesty. But it was true. They were to her satisfaction. More than that. The bed had been a paradise she hadn't known she could still feel. It was soft in a way that she hadn't known existed, far removed from the sleepless nights on the run or the tense, fearful nights in her own childhood bed, where she'd stayed rigid as a statue, terrified her father would peek in. Terrified that he would come to touch her when she was deep in sleep. Terrified that she'd wake up with him on top of her, that disgusting look of fascination spread across his sick features...

For a moment, her eyes fluttered shut, expecting her life to end here and now. But the expected blow never came. Instead, his grip loosened, and her lashes parted cautiously. She blinked up at him, confused, and saw that his hand had fallen away from her throat. She gulped in air and winced as her lungs stretched painfully after being deprived. Her body trembled as she watched him sit back, straddling her hips, though he didn't rise or leave her any chance to escape.

Her relief was short-lived as he reached for the hem of his shirt and stripped it off in one fluid motion. Her breath hitched, her face burning as she turned her head sharply to the side, unwilling to look at him. What was he doing? A fresh wave of panic gripped her, the worst kind of scenarios running wild in her mind.

She clenched her jaw to keep the bile from rising. The thought of being used, defiled… it made her stomach twist painfully. At least if he killed her, it would be over quickly. But this? This would be far worse. A sick twist of fate, escaping one vile man only to fall into the grasp of another. At least this time, she thought bitterly, it was her fault. She'd walked into this mess with open eyes, committing a crime and thinking there would be no consequences.

The sound of fabric tearing made her flinch, and her wide, tear-filled eyes darted back toward him. He was shredding his shirt into strips. When he finally spoke, his tone was gruff, but his words brought an unexpected flicker of relief.

"I'm not going to kill you, girl," he said, his voice low. "You can stop your whimpering. I don't know what I'm going to do with you yet, but I am tired and hungry, and I need to sleep."

Her trembling didn't stop, but she forced herself to swallow her sobs. If she made herself small, obedient, maybe he'd truly spare her. Maybe he'd let her go. The thought of surviving, only to return to the streets, wasn't exactly comforting, but it was better than this. She could find some box on the side of the road to rot in, for if she managed to get out of this, she swore she would give up her life of crime.

Her thoughts were cut short as he grabbed her wrists and began tying them to the headboard with the makeshift strips. She winced as the fabric bit into her skin but made no sound. There was no point in protesting. Any disobedience would only make things worse. She watched helplessly as he moved to her ankles, binding them together with the same efficiency.

The man smirked down at her when he finished, and her face burned again, this time with embarrassment. She felt like an insect pinned under glass, utterly powerless and exposed.

"Get comfortable," he ordered, his voice cutting through her spiraling thoughts. "You will not be leaving until we've spoken properly, and I need rest before then. Don't make too much noise when I'm asleep, or else I'll fucking gag you. Am I understood, girl?"

Lilium's throat felt dry as she nodded weakly. "Understood," she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible. His words offered a thin thread of hope. If they were to talk, perhaps she could explain herself. Maybe she could earn her freedom.

"My name is Andrei," he said, his tone less sharp now but no less commanding. "You may tell me yours tomorrow."

She only nodded again, her voice caught in her throat.

Then, to her horror, he began undressing fully. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face away as heat rose to her cheeks. She wasn't used to this—seeing a man in such a state of undress. It felt indecent, wrong, and far too intimate. She forced herself to stay still, praying he wouldn't touch her, wouldn't take this any further.

But he didn't. Instead, he climbed into bed, pulling the blanket over them both and pressing up against her. Her body went rigid as she felt the weight and warmth of him. His arm slung over her, trapping her further, though he made no other moves. He was… going to sleep?

Her mind raced, struggling to process the situation. The closeness was unbearable. She had never been this close to a man before. Not like this. Not willingly. The thought made her sick all over again, but she forced herself to push it away. This was different. He wasn't touching her in that way, wasn't violating her. But still, she couldn't relax.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts a chaotic jumble. She didn't know what to make of this man, this Andrei. His presence was suffocating, his strength and demeanor terrifying, but he hadn't hurt her. Not really.

"Sleep," he said finally, his voice softer now, though still firm. "There is nothing else you can do now. And try to relax… you're safe, for now."

Safe. The word rang hollow in her ears, but she clung to it like a lifeline. She closed her eyes, her body still trembling as she tried to focus on her breathing. She had no choice but to obey. Bound and trapped beneath him, there was nothing else she could do.

The position she found herself in was deeply uncomfortable, every muscle in her body tense and unwilling to relax. The weight of his arm draped over her, combined with the oppressive warmth of his body pressed so closely, was almost suffocating. And yet, it was infinitely better than the alternative scenarios her mind had conjured earlier. She forced herself to stay still, barely daring to breathe, willing herself into obedience.

Sleep felt like an impossible luxury. Her thoughts churned like a storm, her mouth dry as if all the moisture had been stolen by her fear. She stared into the darkness, trying to suppress the panic bubbling under the surface.

She'd never been this close to a man before—not like this. The memory of her father flickered unbidden to the forefront of her mind, twisting her stomach into knots. That was different, though. This was different. She repeated the thought in her head like a mantra, trying to force herself to believe it.

Being this close to someone in bed wasn't entirely terrible, she realized, albeit grudgingly. There was a strange kind of comfort in the warmth of another person, a sensation she hadn't experienced in so long it felt almost foreign. Her mind wandered to those endless, cold nights spent running—huddling in dark corners or on the hard floors of empty houses, desperate for even a hint of safety. The warmth she felt now, though unwelcome, stirred an ache deep inside her chest.

She almost wished she could have experienced something like this before, in a different time, under different circumstances. A closeness that wasn't born of fear or control. Something genuine. But those were fantasies for someone else, someone whose life wasn't as miserable and broken as hers. Lilium didn't think she'd ever have that. Her existence was a string of failures, humiliations, and regrets, and she was fully aware of how pathetic she was.

The thought sent a familiar pang of self-loathing through her. She clenched her fists, the fabric binding her wrists biting into her skin. She didn't allow herself to dwell on it too long. She couldn't. The shame of being so exposed, both physically and emotionally, was too much to bear.

Even if this man, Andrei, had offered her a fraction of kindness by not killing her outright, she didn't want his pity. She didn't want anyone's pity. So she kept her thoughts buried deep, far from the surface where they could be seen or heard. Her face remained still, her expression blank save for the faintest trace of apprehension lingering in her eyes. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her weakness laid bare.

Her mind wandered as she lay there, the weight of exhaustion pulling at her. The day's events had drained her completely, and despite her fear and discomfort, sleep began to creep in at the edges of her consciousness. She didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, she was alive.