ⅰ

The bar glowed low and golden, all glass and mirrors, music pulsing like a slow heartbeat. Suzuko was a creature of shadow and light here—pale as bone, gold hair catching the dim lamps, amber eyes drinking in the dark. She sat at the counter with her mocktail: lemon, clean and sharp, the glass straw catching against her lips. No ice, no decoration. She liked her edges neat.

Men stared. Alphas, mostly, prowling in their sharp suits and cheap cologne. They thought they knew what to do with her, what to offer. None of them mattered.

She didn’t even look up when someone slid into the seat beside her. Broad-shouldered, taller than most, but easy in his posture. Not looming, not pressing. His drink clinked down—something amber and burning—and his voice cut through the haze without trying too hard.

“You look like you’re pretending to enjoy yourself.”

Suzuko turned, gaze slow, deliberate. He had dark curls, untamed, catching glimmers of violet where the light hit. Twilight-colored eyes, the kind that seemed like they’d seen too much and cared too little. Not Alpha-pretty, but Alpha-confident.

“Maybe I am,” she said, crisp, clipped. Her words always carried teeth. “Why do you care?”

He smirked. “Don’t. Just curious.”

She studied him, letting silence stretch until it was sharp. His shoulders were wide, his frame solid, nothing delicate in the way he took up space. He looked like an Alpha. Moved like one, too—steady, unrushed, as if the world already belonged to him. Exactly her type for one thing only.

“Curiosity is a waste of time,” she said finally, sipping her lemon drink. “You either act, or you don’t.”

His smile curved wider, lazy. “Then act. Or don’t.”

Suzuko tilted her head, measuring. Usually she picked men, Alphas, by how fast they took the bait. By how quickly their need swallowed them. This one… he didn’t chase. He waited. As if her answer mattered less than the moment itself.

That was different.

“Let’s go,” she said at last, sliding from her seat, the hem of her black dress slicing her figure like a blade.

He didn’t blink. Just stood, tall and unhurried, and followed her into the night.

ⅱ

The hotel suite was sharp lines and polished surfaces, just like all the others. Suzuko always booked the same type: high floor, corner room, the kind of sterile luxury that was expensive enough to mean nothing. White sheets, black marble, chrome details. These rooms blurred together like a string of faceless partners—stage, performance, blackout curtain.

Her heels clicked against the marble as she crossed inside, the sound crisp and final. She didn’t bother with the view. The city could burn or glow; she wasn’t here for it.

Ellis followed, slower, taking in the suite with a kind of calm detachment. He didn’t look dazzled, didn’t sneer either. Just seemed to absorb it. That nonchalance pulled at her nerves in ways she didn’t care to examine.

“You’re not going to stand there gawking, are you?” she said, sharp as glass.

A crooked smile touched his lips. “Was waiting. You seem like the type who likes control.”

Her answer was the rustle of fabric as she let her dress slip down her frame, pooling at her feet in a dark puddle. The hotel lights caught the glitter of her jewelry: gold collier snug against her throat, cuffs at her wrists, an anklet flashing as she shifted her weight. Moonstone drops gleamed faintly, pale fire against her skin. Her armor. Her boundary.

Ellis didn’t lunge like others. He leaned, steady, his black shirt stretching against his frame. And there—a glint. A gold chain slipped from beneath his collar, catching light as he moved. A long pendant, not ornamental but worn, scuffed with time. The metal brushed against his chest as he reached for her, the shape of something kept close rather than flaunted.

Suzuko’s gaze caught on it before she pulled it higher, pressing her nails lightly against the cotton of his shirt. “Sentimental?” she asked, voice half-cutting, half-curious.

“Maybe,” he said easily. “You don’t strike me as the type, though.”

“I’m not.” The words came out too quickly.

Then his mouth was on hers, firm, deliberate—not Alpha-possession, not hunger gnawing at the edges. His kiss had weight without greed, a patience that unsettled her more than dominance ever had. The pendant brushed faintly against her collarbone as his chest pressed to hers, gold against gold, but so different from her gleaming armor.

Her body bent toward him, surprised at her own urgency. Every Alpha she’d ever touched had been fire consuming oxygen. Ellis was something else entirely. Not a blaze, but a gravity that pulled her in despite her resistance.

And later, when her jewelry still clung to her skin under his hands, when the sheets tangled pale around them, Suzuko found herself remembering not the hotel’s sterile lines but the faint swing of that gold pendant — like a reminder he wasn’t here to take anything from her. Only to meet her, where she burned.

ⅲ

Suzuko woke with the precision of habit, though the sheets were tangled around her like a net. Her head never fogged—she never drank, never let herself blur. Control was everything. The morning light crept pale and intrusive through the sheer curtains, making her squint. She pushed herself up on one elbow, hair tumbling like molten gold, amber eyes sensitive against the sharp edge of sun.

Ellis was sprawled on his stomach, one arm crooked under the pillow. The necklace had slipped free from his collarbone during the night, pendant glinting faintly against skin as pale as hers. The sight startled her. He looked … peaceful. Not conquered, not smug, not demanding. Just at ease, as if this sterile suite were a familiar place to rest.

Her throat clicked dry. She reached for her clutch on the bedside table, snapped it open, and shook a pill into her palm. Swallowed it with the water bottle she always set beside her bed. A ritual, seamless.

“Morning.”

The word drifted out, rough with sleep but calm, almost lazy. Ellis had rolled to his side, watching her through half-lidded eyes. His voice didn’t carry the clipped sharpness of alphas she’d known—no smugness at having had her. Just an easy warmth.

Suzuko tilted her chin. “You’re awake.”

“Hard not to be, with all that noise,” he teased, voice dragging on the vowels.

She ignored the quip, tucking the pill case back into her clutch. But when she glanced up, Ellis wasn’t watching her face. He was watching her hand, the bottle, the label she hadn’t thought twice about. His eyes sharpened.

“…Those aren’t Alpha pills.”

The words dropped like a stone.

Suzuko froze. Her heart thudded once, hard. She forced her features to stay cool, distant. “What of it?”

Ellis’ lips parted, not in shock but something softer—like realization falling into place. He pushed himself up, necklace swinging forward with the motion, pendant catching in the weak morning light. “You’re… Omega.”

Her breath clipped short. “And you’re not?” she snapped, sharper than intended.

He blinked, then—to her astonishment—laughed. A low, unbothered sound, like he truly found it funny. “That’s rich. I thought you were Alpha. All this—” he gestured lightly at her jewelry, her poise, the way she sat upright in bed as if commanding a stage “—screamed it. Confidence. Power. Untouchable.”

Suzuko’s nails dug into the sheet, knuckles white. “And you—” she bit, voice like glass “—walk into a bar with that build, that presence, acting like you own the air. Of course I thought you were Alpha.”

For a moment, the words hung between them like unsheathed blades. And then Ellis tilted his head back against the headboard, smile slanting crooked. “Guess we’re both bad at reading the script.”

She hated the twist in her stomach at that—the urge to laugh with him, to let the absurdity soften her edges. Instead she crossed her arms, bracelets biting into her skin. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“Doesn’t have to.” His tone was maddeningly easy. “But admit it—last night hit different.”

Suzuko glared, but the memory of his steady hands, his patient kiss, the swing of his necklace against her collarbone … all of it flooded heat through her chest. She looked away.

“You talk too much,” she muttered.

Ellis smirked, settling back into the pillows, casual as the dawn itself. “And you like it.”

She hated that he wasn’t wrong.

ⅳ

The suite again. Always the suite—white sheets, dark marble, her gold shining like a shield.

But it blurred.

Ellis’ laugh in the half-light, low and unhurried, like he had time when she never allowed herself any. The necklace pendant grazing her sternum as he leaned down. Her nails skimming his back, sharp but not cutting. His hand settling against her waist, steady, not claiming—a contrast so stark it made her breath hitch.

Another night: her bracelets slipping halfway down her arm as he pulled her wrist above her head, lips brushing her knuckles before sliding lower. His casual grin as she rolled her eyes at him, feigning boredom, when inside the tension was sharp enough to splinter.

She remembered shadows thrown across the wall, tangled bodies in motion, the taste of sweat and something sweet she couldn’t place. The sound of her own voice breaking sharp edges into softer notes.

Sometimes, he murmured things she couldn’t hold on to in the haze—not declarations, never that, but fragments: “You deserve better nights than lonely ones.” Or: “You don’t have to keep the armor on with me.” Words dissolving into her skin before she could push them away.

The memories folded over one another, indistinct, blurred, yet clear in their repetition: she kept coming back. He kept being there.

The hotel suite never changed, but something in her had.

ⅴ

The city looked different in daylight. Suzuko rarely saw it this way—not from sidewalks cluttered with bakeries and tiny shops, tucked into streets that the rich never bothered to map in their minds. She walked beside Ellis, her sunglasses oversized, her stride as sharp as ever. Still, she couldn’t help noticing the way sunlight dappled across his dark curls, catching the purple sheen as if it were painted there by the sky itself.

“This way,” he said, voice lazy but sure, tugging her down a narrow side street. His necklace swung with the motion, pendant flashing gold. He looked nothing like her usual companions, too casual in his black shirt and worn jacket, but his presence was steady, grounding.

The café was small, the kind of place where tables were packed close and the walls smelled like yeast and sugar. Shelves brimmed with bread loaves in every shape, baskets lined with croissants and rolls dusted with flour. Suzuko hesitated at the threshold, her golden accessories gleaming too brightly for this dim little corner of the world.

Ellis noticed. “Relax,” he said, pushing open the door for her with an easy grin. “They don’t bite. Unless you ask.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she followed. The bell chimed overhead, soft and homely. A world away from chandeliers and silk sheets.

Ellis ordered without looking at a menu—a plate of rye bread for balance, something glazed and golden from the display, and a little dish of cranberry jam. He added hot milk with honey for himself, spoken with the certainty of a ritual.

Suzuko lingered, her tone precise when she finally spoke: “Lemon custard. And lemon tea. Plain.”

At the table, she sat with her back straight, fingers resting against the rim of her cup as though it were a prop. Ellis, by contrast, slouched comfortably, tearing into a piece of bread with his hands. He looked utterly at home.

“So,” he said, chewing slowly. “First time here?”

Suzuko’s brow arched. “Do I look like someone who spends her afternoons in … bakeries?”

He smirked, brushing a crumb from his lip. “You look like someone who could use one.”

The retort came fast, sharp—but she didn’t say it. Instead, she stared at the rows of bread on the counter, people laughing softly at other tables, the way the air felt thick with warmth and familiarity. Something caught in her throat.

“I don’t do this,” she said finally, words clipped.

Ellis tilted his head. “Do what?”

Her nails clicked against her cup. “This. Daylight. Cafés. Sitting across from someone. It’s not—” She broke off, the sharp edge faltering for just a second. Her bracelets clinked softly when she folded her arms. “Strangers always stay strangers. No strings.”

Ellis leaned back, eyes warm but not heavy. “And you still came with me.”

She met his gaze, amber eyes burning but unsteady. “…For the bread.”

He grinned. “Sure.”

And somehow, the bread really was good.

ⅵ

Her face in a mirror, bare without earrings.

She hardly recognized herself without the armor—pale skin, too much gold in her hair, too much softness in her mouth. It felt indecent, like standing without clothes.

His laughter echoing in her apartment stairwell.

Warm, careless, rolling down the narrow space like it belonged there. She had never heard laughter in that stairwell before. Never let anyone inside. The sound didn’t leave, even after he did.

A soft curse as she tripped on a step, caught by steady hands.

Her ankle had twisted—ridiculous, humiliating. She never stumbled. She never allowed herself to. And yet Ellis caught her easily, steadying her with a quiet, “Got you.”

The way her pulse leapt when he didn’t let go right away.

She should have pulled back. Should have brushed it off with sharp words, something to reassert her control. But instead, her body betrayed her, standing still, breathing shallow, heat blooming in her chest.

These were moments that didn’t fit her rules.

Rules that had always kept her safe, untouchable, golden and bright on her own terms. Yet now—little fractures had begun to thread through the surface, weaving Ellis into spaces she never allowed anyone to occupy.

And she hated how much she didn’t want to stop it.

ⅶ

Suzuko’s apartment had never hosted anyone but her.

Not the possessive alphas she discarded, not the admirers who begged. No stranger had ever crossed its threshold—until Ellis.

He stepped inside, glancing at the black chandeliers, the stripped-down elegance of the place. “It’s very you,” he said, voice low, casual.

“Sharp and clean?” she asked, unclasping her heels with a deft flick.

His pendant caught the chandelier’s glow as he leaned against the wall, smiling. “Sharp, yeah. But the kind of sharp that dares you to touch it.”

Her lips curved. “Careful. You might cut yourself.”

The bedroom opened like a secret, silk sheets in shades of shadow and light. Suzuko stood before him, fingers moving to the clasps at her wrist, sliding each golden bracelet free. One by one, they rang soft as they dropped onto the bedside table.

Ellis’s gaze followed every piece. The collier, the earrings, the rings—her armor stripped away. “You never took them off before,” he murmured.

Her hands lingered at the chain of her necklace, the moonstone drop catching the light like a drop of ice. She unclasped it slowly, deliberately, and set it down last. “I felt like it,” she said, sharp, like daring him to question her. “I’m home. No reason to hide.”

Ellis stepped closer, heat radiating from his body, the faint honeyed scent of his skin brushing against her. “You’re not hiding,” he said softly. “You’re letting me see.”

The words pressed under her skin, electric. She tilted her chin, eyes narrowing. “Careful with your words. I don’t do confessions.”

“Good.” His lips brushed her jaw, easy but sure. “Neither do I.”

Her breath hitched—rare, sharp. His hands were warm against her hips, not possessive, not demanding. Just steady.

She dragged him toward the bed, silk sheets cool against her back when she pulled him down with her. The pendant at his chest pressed to her collarbone, golden and unyielding, even as his mouth found hers.

For once, Suzuko didn’t shove it aside.

ⅷ

The city glittered below, all fractured gold and white, lights scattered like jewels across the dark. From her balcony, Suzuko leaned against the railing, silk nightgown clinging to her body like spilled shadow. No jewelry weighed on her throat, her wrists, her ankles. She felt bare, lighter than she should have, the night air licking at her pale skin.

She squinted against the brightness of the city, amber eyes narrowing. Always too much light. She had always been the sun in name, in image, but nights like these reminded her why she loved the moon instead. The moon didn’t blind. The moon let her breathe.

The glass door clicked softly behind her. Ellis stepped out, hair mussed from sleep, his presence easy as ever. He leaned beside her at the railing, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers.

“You don’t sleep much, do you?” he asked, voice casual, almost amused.

“I don’t need to,” Suzuko said crisply, though her eyes stayed on the horizon. “The night belongs to me.”

Ellis chuckled, low and warm. “Guess that makes sense. You’re sun-colored, but you’ve got the moon’s habits.”

She shot him a sideways look, sharp and cutting—but found him watching her without fear, without question, only quiet wonder. As though her contradictions made sense. As though she wasn’t a puzzle to solve, but something to sit beside.

Her chest tightened, unexpectedly.

“You’re different,” she said at last, each word distinct, measured. “We’re… different. This isn’t what people want to see.”

Ellis shrugged, easy. “People see what they wanna see. I see you. That’s enough.”

Suzuko turned back to the city. The golden lights blurred for a moment, then steadied again. She breathed in the cool air, let it fill her chest.

“I won’t call it love,” she said, firm, sharp-edged. “Don’t expect me to.”

Ellis didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch, comfortable. Then: “Didn’t ask you to.”

Their shoulders brushed again, steady, warm. Suzuko let it linger.

She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring—she never cared to. The future was a fickle thing, a promise she had no interest in keeping. All she knew was the weight of the nightgown clinging to her skin, the absence of jewelry at her throat, and the quiet presence of Ellis beside her.

For now, that was enough.

For now, she wouldn’t let go.

The workshop buzzed with the usual rhythm of machines, the hum of voices, and the shuffle of fabric being cut and sewn. Rose sat at her station, needle gliding with careful precision, every stitch tight, neat, flawless. Her posture was straight, her face composed into the polite mask everyone at work expected from her.

But the sound of Ellis’ laugh carried across the room, pulling at her composure like a snag in her thread.

He was standing by the client boards, tall enough to tower slightly above the others gathered there. His twilight eyes crinkled with warmth as he charmed a group of coworkers, his voice smooth, his presence magnetic. Someone joked, and Ellis’ easy grin spread wide, drawing another ripple of laughter. Compliments followed, casual words of admiration tossed his way.

Rose’s hand twitched. Her needle pricked her fingertip. She hissed softly, not at the sting but at herself for slipping. Annoyance curled in her chest, quiet and heavy, but she didn’t let it show. She never let it show. Her lips stayed in their polite line, her movements controlled, even as each laugh that followed Ellis’ words felt like a pinprick. They weren’t praising his skill—they never did. Just his charm. And still, he basked in it so effortlessly. She told herself it didn’t matter. She was the one who made the curtains hang straight, the folds precise, the rooms elegant. Perfection didn’t need applause. And yet, the hunger for it gnawed at her all the same. She wanted—no, needed—to be seen, to be acknowledged for what only she could do.

Ellis’ praise helped. More than helped. When he said she was brilliant, she almost believed it. But others? Their silence made her question everything.

A junior decorator shuffled closer, hesitant. “Rose… could you maybe show me that curtain fold again? The one from last week?”

Rose lifted her gaze, and the girl faltered under its weight. Still, Rose smoothed her tone, calm and clipped. “Fine. Watch closely.”

Her hands moved with practiced grace as she demonstrated. The girl fumbled on her first try, then again on the second. Rose’s patience stretched taut. Precision was natural to her—watching someone else stumble through it felt unbearable.

Ellis laughed again, louder this time. Praise followed. The sound dug deeper than Rose wanted to admit. Her jaw tightened, her stitches sharper, tighter. Perfect, always perfect. If she could just make it flawless, maybe the gnawing ache in her chest would quiet.

They walked home together after work. Ellis swung the bag of groceries lightly, as though the day had cost him nothing. “You were amazing today,” he said, that same warm grin curving his lips. “The folds you taught that kid? Flawless. I swear, no one else could’ve shown it like you.”

Rose didn’t answer. Her pout tugged at the corners of her mouth, betraying her mood despite her silence. Her hands itched to fidget, but she clasped them tight around her bag strap instead. She hated how childish it sounded even in her own head: why did he get the smiles while she got silence? When Ellis praised her, it was different. He saw her. But others… others should have seen too. Shouldn’t they? She bit the words back, but when she finally spoke, it slipped out smaller than she meant, edged in sulkiness.

“You’re quiet,” Ellis teased gently.

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not with me.” His twilight eyes flicked toward her, gleaming. “Come on, what’s wrong?”

She walked a step faster, but his stride caught up easily. “Everyone looks at you,” she muttered finally. “Laughing at your jokes. Hanging on your words. I sit there all day, working until my fingers ache, and…” Her voice trailed, frustration biting the rest back.

Ellis tilted his head, studying her. Instead of brushing it aside, he slowed, his smile softening. “They don’t see you the way I do, Rose. They couldn’t. You’re brilliant.”

Her cheeks heated. “You say that so easily.”

“Because it’s true,” he replied simply.

The apartment door shut behind them with a soft click. Rose slipped off her shoes, shoulders slumping as her work mask cracked. She wandered toward the kitchen, dropping her bag on the counter with a little more force than necessary. “They act like you walk on water,” she muttered, pulling her hair tie loose. “Like you’re the only one worth praising.”

The words escaped before she could stop them, low and sharp like steam escaping a kettle. Rose hated how petulant she sounded, hated that Ellis would hear the jealousy she fought to hide all day. At work she’d stitched it down into silence; here, in their little kitchen, it frayed loose, spilling into the open like an unraveling thread.

She didn’t hear his steps at first, only felt the way the air shifted when Ellis moved in behind her. His presence loomed warm and unshakable, his shadow stretching over her small frame.

“Jealous?” His voice was low, almost velvet, but edged with something that made her freeze. His shadow draped over her back, swallowing her small frame whole.

Rose’s throat tightened. She didn’t look at him.

“Good,” he whispered, closer now, his breath hot at her ear. “I like when you care that much. When you can’t stand the thought of anyone else’s eyes on me. Because I can’t stand it either.”

She shivered, and her mutiny died in her throat.

The canopy bed filled the small bedroom, layered with plushies, blankets, and the airy curtains Rose had sewn herself. Fairy lights twinkled around the posts, casting the room in soft golden glow. Rose climbed onto the mattress cross-legged, expectant, waiting. Ellis followed, her small frame fitting neatly between his thighs. He picked up the comb, running it slowly through her hair, untangling it with gentle strokes.

But tonight, her pout lingered, lips pressed stubbornly together.

“You’re still sulking,” Ellis murmured, voice warm.

“I’m not.”

“You are.” His tone had changed—lower, heavier, as though her sulk stirred something in him. He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. “And I like it. It reminds me how badly you want to be seen.”

The comb stilled. He set it carefully aside on the blankets, then slid his hands around her waist. He pulled her back against him, her spine pressed to his chest, his embrace unyielding. His lips grazed her neck, lingering.

“They can laugh at my jokes all they want,” he whispered, his twilight eyes burning when she dared glance at him over her shoulder. “But none of them have this. None of them have you.”

Her breath caught. The jealousy that had poisoned her earlier now seemed almost foolish, burned away in the heat of his words.

“Ellis…” she whispered, her protest thin.

He turned her gently, pressing her into the sea of blankets. The canopy curtains swayed, cocooning them in soft fabric and light. His hands held her firm—not cruel, never cruel—but steady, grounding her in place as if to etch the truth into her bones: she was his.

“Mine,” he breathed against her skin, the word molten with certainty. His lips brushed her jaw, her temple, her cheek. “My Rose.” He kissed lower, tracing the line of her throat. “Mine to hold.” Another kiss, softer, lingering. “Mine to protect.” His voice thickened, almost breaking with the weight of it. “Mine to love.”

Her sulk faltered, slipping into a trembling exhale as his words sank deep.

His hand slid to her cheek, tilting her face to his. “My happiness,” he whispered, their foreheads touching. “My beauty. My everything. No one else. Only me.”

His twilight gaze pinned her, sharp as it was tender, and the praise broke her last shred of resistance. She melted beneath him, her lips parting against his, her breath catching as the worship in his words transformed into heat.

Above them, the fairy lights glowed faintly, a constellation just for them. And within that cocoon of soft fabric and shadows, Ellis claimed her with reverence, with hunger, with devotion.

»You know,« Anne says, the loud music getting louder with every step, »I’m surprised we even got in with you wearing that cutesy outfit.«

»Yeah,« Heather chimes in, slightly pulling down her deep v-neck, »especially since cute and innocent is out. We aren’t teens anymore, Hana, guys want seductive women who know what they want.«

Hana just shrugs and follows them to the bar, avoiding all the sweaty bodies on the packed dance floor. The music currently playing isn’t to her liking as she sits down next to Anne. They order drinks, Anne glances to Hana, chin propped onto her palm, and decides that she needs alcohol in her system to cheer up. Anne beckons the bartender back to them, asking for a nice, fruity cocktail for Hana.

Hana rolls her eyes at that, not really fond of alcohol, and watches the other two downing their own drinks, followed by several shots. An orange one appears in Hana’s sight, decorated with a spiral straw and other glittery things she doesn’t need in a drink.

»Join us when you loosened up enough,« Heather shouts over the beats, patting Hana’s shoulder and she disappears with Anne in the crowd of dancing bodies.

Hana wonders why she agreed in the first place to go with them, she’s bored already. One night stands aren’t really her thing. Maybe she’s being a little old-fashioned, at least for someone her age. Anne and Heather, though, they act and live like the majority of their generation, hooking up with strangers at bars because true love is nothing more than a fickle dream, a lie of the past, and worrying about their future, good jobs with good income becoming more and more sparse.

Sometimes, she doesn’t want to grow up and relives her teens instead. Binge watching old cartoons or listening to 90’s or early 2000’s music for example, Hana still owns and wears her old clothing. It’s not like she actually wants to go back, going to high school once is more than enough for a lifetime, teenage boys ignorant—dishwasher kisses, unsure fumbling and sloppy breast groping—or absorbed, believing porn depicts reality.

Of course there are other boys out there but Hana never had the opportunity to date one. She fell for the nice faces and got crushed by her shattered expectations. And still she hopes to meet the man of her dreams—whoever that may be—with unconditional love and a fulfilled future. Hana wants nothing more than a family of her own.

Yet, she sits at a counter in a bar where people solely look for hookups and nothing serious. They want to live their youth to fullest before settling down, if ever.

Sighing in her mind, Hana reaches for her drink anyway. One won’t be a problem, she’ll order a glass of water afterwards and then just coke. Before she can take a sip through the straw, a foreign hand wraps itself around her glass and takes it away with little force.

Confused, she looks to the side where a man settled into Anne’s seat. She didn’t notice his presence at all. How long was she contemplating about her life? He puts her drink down again, eyeing her with a careful gaze.

He leans in to her, »You shouldn’t drink something you haven’t watched all the time.« Despite the loud music around them, his voice is smooth and the only thing she can hear in this very moment. After that, the noise filters back into her system.

Then she understands what he means. »You mean, someone put something in my drink?« she asks back. Rule number one while clubbing—never leave your drinks unattended. Since she appears as cute and innocent, as Heather put it, she is viewed as an easy victim. Now it looks like she actually is one, to her dismay. »Thanks, you literally saved me there.«

»No need to, don’t worry about it.« He smiles, eyes twinkling and piercings on his ears gleaming in the colorful club lights and Hana catches herself falling into her teen behavior—getting enamored by a pretty, good looking face.

The fact that he saved her from getting drugged isn’t helping either, rather enhancing because a man protecting her is totally her type. She orders a coke. Another cocktail would be more preferable but alcohol makes her clingy and whiny and no matter what will happen between them—or not—she doesn’t want him to see this side of her, so caffeine will suffice.

They end up at her apartment. At first, her companion for the night, he introduced himself as Ellis, wanted to go to a hotel but Hana trusted him that he had no ill intent and led him to her place instead. It’s only a small one-room-apartment in the dormitory but cheaper and more comfortable than a foreign hotel room.

Ellis’s an odd one, not in a bad way, but Hana has never met a man like him. There isn’t a single place of skin left on her he hasn’t kissed—or licked. She doesn’t mind, though, nobody has ever paid so much attention to her body and where she likes to be touched—or licked for that matter.

At least, he knows what to do with his tongue. Maybe Hana hasn’t had as many encounters with men as Anne or Heather but she knows for sure Ellis’s a great kisser. His kisses don’t feel like he wants to clean her mouth in a very sloppy way. On the other hand, he isn’t an inexperienced teen.

Another thing about him is his constant sniffing. Her hair, her throat, the juncture between her neck and shoulder and between her thighs seem to be his favorite places.

Everyone has different things they like; licking and sniffing—which Hana both actually enjoys, realizing that during the night—definitely are way better, and more harmless, than him wanting to choke her or telling her ›I want you to punish me‹ or whatever.

Ellis’s someone who likes to please and he’s utterly attentive—of course, that’s also a part of Hana’s type.

When she wakes up in the morning, Ellis’s still there, fast asleep. His face is snuggled into her stomach, forehead resting right beneath the gap of her breasts and his warm huffs of breath slightly tickling her. One arm lays under her waist, the other one is draped over her thighs, their legs are a tangled mess. Her own hands are on his head, fingers cradled in soft black locks.

The last bits of the summer sun illuminates them from her window. Ellis’ pale skin glows in the sun rays, painting him golden as if he’s radiating from the inside. Dust particles dance in the streaming light. The scene is so peaceful and undisturbed—

Hana fears Ellis waking up and the moment being broken. Last night will vanish like a dream, only to be replayed in her head. It’s something fickle, like true love. This man could be the man she dreamed of, and she met him in a place of short-termed encounters, the reality of the present.

Sighing, she burns everything into her memory and her fingers brush through his hair, slowly starting from the nape of his neck until they reach his ears. Ellis sighs as well—pleased unlike her—and nudges his nose into the soft skin of her stomach, the weight of his arm wandering up to her waist and he pulls her even closer with his hand on the small of her back.

Apparently she found his soft spot. Hana smiles to herself and she applies a little bit more pressure with her thumbs behind his ears, the other fingers kneading his neck again. When he presses open-mouthed kisses against her belly, she knows he’s awake and yet, the idle moment doesn’t shatter.

Her heart thumps loudly in her chest and she’s sure he can hear it, if him inching higher is any indication, leaving behind a wet trail on her torso. Ellis’s chuckling a bit, sending small vibrations through her body, before his nose is buried into her neck, taking deep breaths. His tongue darts out, licking a long stripe along her throat. Hana shudders, fingers digging into his scalp and then, his lips press against hers, kissing her senseless.

Her previous hookups—although scarce—never went like this and she wonders if the difference between them and him has a meaning. Not to forget that he’s the first one she invited into her small personal space.

»Morning,« Ellis mumbles low and raspy, one hand brushing over her side.

Hana’s still catching her breath and gets lost in his warm, dark orbs. She sees her own reflection in them and it dawns upon her that she hasn’t removed her makeup last night. Good, she never wears much—why should she plaster her whole face with numerous products if she has a good complexion?—but her eyeliner is certainly smudged and her mascara all over her eyes. Only her tinted lip balm was already gone, smeared away between countless kisses.

Even so, she smiles back. »Morning. Did you sleep well?« she asks, fingers still running through his hair.

»Hey, Rose.«

Said girl looks up, questioning, and faces Chelsea, an annoying and bitchy girl from her math class. She’s grinning, tracing her manicured fingernails along Rose’s notes, jumbling them all over her desk. Gasping, Rose tries to rearrange them with shaking fingers.

»Your notes are always so neat, aren’t they? I’m sure they explain math better than this old hag,« Chelsea says, arching one eyebrow, a thick, dark line above her eye, in question while batting her clumped eyelashes innocently. »How about you lend them to me? I mean, that’s what friends are for, right?«

»We aren’t friends—and please stop that.« Frantically, Rose tries to bring everything back in order but snarling Chelseaʼs having none of it.

»What’s the problem? Ah, right, you’re such a neat-freak.« With a sinister smile, Chelsea grips her notes, holding them high above Rose’s head who’s reaching out to them but to no avail. There’s no one left in the classroom and Rose’s legs refuse to stand up as her mind completely blanks out, only full of the desire to get rid of the disarray of her things.

Horrified, she watches as Chelsea tears out the first page and then the next and the next and the sound of ripping paper echoes in her ears. Rose can’t stand it—she needs her perfect order and so she covers her ears, sobbing and mumbling »please stop« over and over again. And yet, her eyes are locked onto the action in front of her, playing the scene again and again, not realizing Chelsea suddenly stops.

The smell of leather and a hint of fruity cologne reaches her nostrils and then a hand lays itself on Chelsea’s shoulder, she lets out a hurt sound as her shoulder’s nearly crushed. Rose glances to the side, ears still covered but she’s already relaxing.

»Hey, what are you—fuck, stop it, you’re seriously breaking my shoulder here,« Chelsea whines but her eyes are glued to the handsome male next to her, his lips drawn in a small smile, emitting a dangerous and eerie aura. The destroyed notes fall out of her hands as she tries to peel off his hand.

Rose keeps her eyes on him, not wanting to look at the chaos.

»Say you’re sorry and then leave her alone,« his voice is such a low growl that Rose actually can’t hear him but knows anyway what he’s saying. »Come on, what are you waiting for?«

»How do you know—Ow! Okay, okay, I’m sorry, okay? Now, let go of me.« Massaging her shoulder Chelsea dashes out of the room the moment she’s free.

The male crouches to her eye level, warm, big hands carefully removing her own from her ears. His expression changing into a soft, worried one. »You didn’t come and you didn’t text me, so I came looking for you. Can you stand?«

»My notes,« Rose says instead.

Patting her head, he hushes her. »It’s okay, I’ll help you making new ones later but first you have to stand up.« Rose nods, still a bit panicked, but she isn’t alone anymore, she can do it while he packs her things behind her back.

With the chaos gone, her panic subsides completely. She snuggles herself into his side as he drapes his arm around her waist, pressing her closer to him.

»Thank you, Ellis,« Rose whispers as they make their way out of school, ignoring the few people still left gawking at him. They don’t need to know who the mysterious, good-looking man on Rose’s side is. They should be able to tell, anyway.

»No need to, that’s what boyfriends are for. And I knew something wasn’t right when you didn’t come,« Ellis replies, holding open the door of the main entrance for her, »because you would be the last person to be late on purpose.«

Ellis’ motor bike waits for them in the parking lot, black and sleek and dangerous. He hands Rose his jacket—she drowns in his smell—and then her backpack which she slides on both shoulders. At first she worries that it would be too cold for him but Ellis’s like a walking heating system and he won’t die from it, he ensures.

He puts her helmet on first, then his and she slings her arms around his torso as if her life depends on it. Actually, it does. Not even ten minutes later he drives into an underground garage of a fancy and big apartment complex. Neither his bike nor himself fit here and whenever they meet other residents in the elevator, they frown. At least, he always brings the same girl home with him.

The moment they’re in his apartment, her spine hits against the door and his lips are on hers, kissing her with fervor as his fingers slide beneath her sweater, leaving burning trails on her waist and stomach.

»I missed you, baby,« he breaths between two kisses and dips lower to her neck. A stomach growls and then another. Chuckling, Ellis lets go of her. »Sometimes I believe you’re always hungry.«

»Your stomach growled first, Ellis,« Rose retorts giggling and adjusts her sweater.

»Pretty sure it was yours.« Laughing, he proceeds to the kitchen while she puts his discarded boots in place, placing hers right beside them and hangs his jacket on his coat rack.

On socked feet she follows him. »What are we having for dinner?«

»Whatever makes you happy.« He opens his refrigerator, checking it for the ingredients and gives her a thumbs up. »Does your favorite comfort food sound good?«

She nods, smiling, and so they settle for it. Comfort food definitely sounds like the best call.

»How about we continue where we stopped?«

They just finished doing the dishes and Ellis stands behind her, his arms wide open. Rose accepts the invitation, jumping right into his arms and hooks her legs around his waist. His hands hold her up with ease, sliding from her thighs to her butt. Before dating Ellis, she has never been fond of the idea of butt grabbing but his hands are just a perfect fit, kneading the flesh just the right way.

With a pant, she snuggles her face into the crook of his neck and her lips brush over the sensitive skin, her warm huffs of breath leaving goosebumps there. His body slightly vibrates as he chuckles. »Someone missed me too, hm?« Rose nods, though it’s more of a rub of her forehead against his neck and hands clenching into his hoodie.

He starts walking to the bedroom while he presses his lips on every accessible place on her and just mere seconds later Rose lands upon the soft mattress. Ellis follows suit and kisses her breathless the moment he’s close enough, prying off her sweater again. It lands somewhere on the ground, getting company from Ellis’ hoodie soon after.

No matter how often she has already seen him shirtless, she’s still in awe. His skin tone pale—like he bathed in pure moonlight—and a fit yet not too muscular torso. Too many muscles would just scare her away but he’s perfect. Her fingers brush over the supple and soft skin, exploring every mole and mark as if it’s the first time she sees him like that.

Then her hand hovers over his belt and Ellis looks at her with lidded eyes, telling her wordlessly to open it because his tight jeans gets more uncomfortable with every passing second. After a very long minute—in his opinion at least—she shows mercy and unbuckles his belt before popping open the button and pulling down the zipper.

»Little tease,« Ellis groans but he likes it anyway. Normally, Rose isn’t that straightforward so he appreciates this rare forwardness at every chance. Most of the time he just needs his mouth in the right places and Rose’s mind stops working as she completely melts under him. She’s too far gone then to be anything than passive but responding.

But as long as it makes her happy, he will do anything to chase her happiness.

He finally gets rid of his jeans and also Rose’s socks but makes no move to open her pants as well. Maybe they won’t be straining her like his did but he knows she hates the feeling of soaked panties and so he pins her into the mattress, holding up her hands as she tries to open her jeans herself. »No, no, that won’t do, baby girl,« he smirks.

Her eyes are big, waiting and Ellis complies. He trails open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and down her throat which causes Rose to whimper. She arches her upper body and his eyes land on her breasts. They’re small, soft yet firm and covered by a lacy bralette without padding. Lowering his lips, he smiles at her and starts sucking at one of her nipples through the fabric. The friction makes her whimper again.

»What do you say, baby girl?« Ellis asks while his free hand fondles her other breast. Rose just shakes her head, lips tightly pressed against each other. Instead she lifts her leg and her knee brushes against his growing bulge. His breath hitches. Today, she’s really feisty—or her meltdown just rattled her up.

His hand leaves her breast, wandering south until it kneads the thigh of her lifted leg. Her body starts squirming underneath him and she presses her legs together, her feet scraping along the bed sheets. That makes him wanting to tease her more, sliding his hand between her legs and they fall apart in an instant.

He wins. »I’m listening, baby girl.« Still nothing—except for her whines and tiny moans. »You just have to say ›please‹ and I’ll do anything you want.«

»No,« she answers weakly, »I don’t have to say it.«

»Baby girl.«

»No.«

»Baby girl.« He nibbles along her ear.

Rose turns her head to the side, her warm breath fanning over his lips. »Ellis.«

Any other time he wouldn’t give in but he missed her when he was away for the last three days and calling him by his name is basically her saying ›please‹ anyway. He literally rips off her jeans and their remaining clothes, not wasting any more time. Letting go off her hands, he settles himself comfortably between her legs.

»I missed you, baby,« he repeats his words from earlier, »and I believe I forgot how you taste like. Would it make you happy if I refreshed my memories?«

»Please,« she mewls and the moment his tongue starts lapping up her juices, she leaves behind a whining, trembling and moaning mess. His mouth can really do wonders and no one appreciates it like Rose does as her body responds so well. Legs shaking, calves pressing into his sides and her moans get louder and louder, his name slurred and with a precise lick against her most sensitive spot, she’s gone.

She lies there with her head rolled to the side, completely spent, her chest heaves as she comes down from her high—utterly beautiful. Her hands find his shoulders and beckons him to come up.

And he’s just as beautiful. Lips and chin glistening with her juices, eyes dark and hazy, his bangs damp and sticking to his forehead. His face may scream ›lust‹ like this but he also views her with adoration.

»You okay, baby?« he asks softly and low, caressing her cheek with his knuckles.

»More than okay,« she answers breathlessly and pulls him even closer, pressing their mouths together in another kiss. Ellis tastes now like a mixture of himself and her, absolutely intriguing. There’s a string of saliva as they break away for oxygen. »We can go on, you won’t overstimulate me anymore.«

Shortly after, Rose’s fingers curl tightly into his hair as he’s filling and stretching her. Since he was her first, she has no comparison but—yet again—Ellis just seems like the right fit for her body. Not that she’s interested in finding out otherwise. When she adjusts to his size, her tight grip lessens and he knows he can move.

As their hips move in unison, Ellis whispers into her ear, »Admittedly, I’d be interested in it. Pleasuring you over and over until you’re in pure bliss and I’m the only thing left in your mind.«

She gasps and imagines it but there’s something else. »Don’t,« is her simple answer and she hides her face in the crook of his neck, »I don’t deserve that. You—«

»Stop that, baby girl.« Ellis’ movements still and he forces her gently with his hand under her chin to look at him. »You’re my everything. If you asked, I would kiss the ground you walked over. It would be a lie if I said I don’t mind at all that you don’t go down on me too but we tried it several times and you simply can’t. Every time you ended up choking, gagging and tears streamed down your face. I don’t want to see you like this ever again.«

»I’m sorry.«

»Don’t be, it’s not your fault,« he assures her as his hips begin to thrust in a slow manner again, »relationships are built on compromises and that’s one of them. But now—relax, baby girl.«

Ellis kisses her. Slow, languid, deep and assuring her that everything’s okay. Her mind calms down, she falls into the same pace as him as they gradually become faster again. She wants to lose herself in the feeling and Ellis is eager to comply, further helping as his hand slips between their bodies to touch her.

»Come for me, baby,« he murmurs in a husky, low voice, »I want you to feel it while I’m still inside you.« As if he pushes a button—though he basically does—and she falls, crashing into heaven and back, her body going limp. Ellis doesn’t stop touching her until it’s too much for Rose and shoves away his hand.

Engulfed in her contracting heat, he follows suit and rolls to the side before he collapses on her small frame. As Ellis lies on his back, breathing hard, Rose crawls onto him, bedding her head on his chest. She listens to his pounding heart coming down, it soothes her.

»Three days were three days too many,« Ellis says after a few quiet minutes, chest vibrating as he talks. »And when you go to college we’ll have even less time.« She can hear the small pout.

»You donʼt have to worry,« she reassures him, »my career plans involve you anyway. You are my very important muse, remember?«

He hums. »I suppose that’s true.« His draws little nothings on her back. »So how about another round, hm?«

»First, I need to go to the toilet.« With that, she staggers out of bed, legs a bit unsteady, heading for the bathroom en suite. »It’s sticky.«

»Hey!« he shouts indignantly but still smiling, »What do you mean, ›sticky‹? It’s my very own seed full of love for you.«

She never had an ordinary life. Even if the life of the upper class was considered as the default, she was still different. Nothing about her was quite ordinary, no matter hard she wanted it to be.

Her mother had left their home with her when she had been a child. Their pretty, pretty mansion, snuggled between other mansions of other rich families. She could clearly remember the ivy overgrowing on the walls of their house, the hydrangea bushes neatly planted in perfect order in their front yard. But that was a memory from long ago.

Now, she lived in a smaller house, far away from bustling streets, without any neighbors. They never had any visitors, not even her father was allowed in—it was just her mother, their servants and her.

But she was content like that. Staying all day at home, far away from prying eyes who loved to gossip, she could pass her time with any hobby she desired. Reading books from their library, stitching pretty embroidery onto her dresses, finding new food she liked by cooking.

She didnʼt need to attend social gatherings in stiff dresses, trying to impress gentlemen, finding a suitable husband-to-be who would be the father to her children.

Maybe her life wasnʼt ordinary compared to other girls her age but Aurora preferred her simple way of life.

Illuminated by the pale moonlight, curtains swaying in the breeze, a loud crashing sound jolted Aurora awake. Disorientated, she looked around, believing for a short moment the sound had been fabricated by her dreams—until she remembered her dreams were always like gaping black holes. Unsure what to do, her blood pulsed in her ears like a heartbeat.

She waited for some sound but everything stayed quiet. Eerily quiet. Something was wrong. Her mother would tell her to stay in her room, lock the door, maybe even push furniture in front of it if her strength allowed it. With her room being in the attic, the door was the only way in.

And yet, she found her legs moving out of her bed, feet touching the soft fur of the lambskin laying right beside her bed. Draping a shawl around her body, she made her way to the door, each step ringing in her ears. Descending down the narrow stairs, she could already see that the door to her mothersʼ bedroom was wide open.

Her steps quickened but the bed was empty, the sheets messily thrown to the side. Aurora was sure she could make out dark splotches on the light fabric. Something definitely wasnʼt right. She tried to stay calm, controlling her breath and tried to listen. Surely there had to be sounds.

A quiet groan reached her ears. It sounded like Betty, their oldest and most trusted servant, whenever she tried to lift something that was too heavy for her old body. It was a sound of pain.

Go back, her mother would tell her, donʼt try to help; thatʼs not your fate. But Aurora couldnʼt go back. Without her mother and the servants who were all dear to her, she would be alone. Alone in this mansion which was way too big for a young woman like her. Each step felt heavy, reminding her she was disobeying her mothersʼ wishes.

The entrance hall was empty again but she could feel a breeze coming from the little tea room. They never left open a window on the ground floor. Holding her breath, trying not to make a sound, she neared the room, its open doors gaping at her, like an entrance to hell.

Betty groaned again, louder this time. Or maybe Aurora just got closer to her. Careful, she peeked around the corner of the door. Betty lay on the ground, between a settee and a low table. She looked miserable. Without thinking any further, Aurora rushed into the room, wanting to help her but a low and very male sounding chuckle stopped her in her tracks. Impossible, no man was allowed into their house.

She didnʼt dare to turn around, keeping her eyes trained on Betty.

»If that isnʼt the mysterious Miss Ainsworth.« His voice was dripping with sarcasm. »Didnʼt your mother teach you itʼs impolite to not look at your guests?«

A big lump formed in her throat, her breathing became shallow. Men were dangerous, not even her father could enter this house. It had always been her, her mother and their female servants.

»Where is my mother?« she managed to say, voice barely audible.

»Who knows? Maybe my partner has fun with her. It doesnʼt matter, our target is you, Miss.«

She felt him coming closer and her body stiffened. Eyes shut close, she didnʼt know what to do. Her body was frozen in place. Her mother had warned her. Donʼt leave your room, donʼt interfere. Thatʼs not your fate, my dear. She shouldʼve listened to her. Regret soared through her veins. The key to her door she took with her just in case felt hot, burning into her skin.

Heavy steps drew closer and a gloved hand weighed her shoulder down. She never had a chance to outran him and now it was too late. The house was eerily quiet again, even Betty stopped groaning. Aurora didnʼt dare to look if she just was unconscious or something worse.

»Wha-what do you want from me?«

»Thatʼs none of your concern, Miss. How about you show me your face, maybe I will answer your questions then. Your mother was called the ›Jewel of the season‹ when she had her debut, so Iʼm sure youʼre just as pretty.«

Not waiting for an answer, he forcefully turned her around, grasping her chin in a tight grip. Aurora kept her eyes tightly shut, so much they started to hurt. Memories from her childhood threatened to resurface—memories she wanted to forget, but forgetting seemed impossible to her.

His thumb pressed against her bottom lip, pulling it down. It felt gross but there was nothing she could do with her small frame and her thin arms. No matter what, she couldnʼt look him in the eyes. Everything but that. A tear escaped beneath her closed eyelid.

»Oh, no need to cry, Miss,« he sneered, »and you canʼt keep your eyes closed forever.« His other hand pulled the shawl from her shoulders, dropping it to the floor. »Hmm, normally I donʼt like thin girls like you but your pale skin just claims to be marked, so I make an exception, just for you. What do say?«

»Please donʼt,« she pleaded, knowing full well there was no point to it. Men were dangerous, they didnʼt consider women as their equals. Women were nothing more than a possession to them, something to be owned.

Her legs trembled like crazy and just his hand on her shoulder prevented her from dropping to the ground. But her movement stilled the moment she felt a hand dragging along her thigh, gathering the fabric of her nightgown. The glove was gone, just coarse skin slowly moving upwards.

»N-no,« she sobbed, legs pressed together but she knew the man had enough strength to push them apart at any moment. The fingers felt like an insect, crawling up and then they found another piece of fabric. Another sneer came from his mouth, ready to rip this thing from her body—and her eyes opened in shock; locking with his muddy brown ones, eye whites more of a sickly red.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Time flowed so fast yet so slow and she knew it was too late. His eyes glazed over, blood rushed through his body, flushing his face and warming up the hand between her thighs.

»I want you,« he rasped in a daze, pushing her down onto the ground. His hands ripped her nightgown apart, his heavy body holding her in place. »Iʼve never seen a woman more beautiful than you. Youʼre mine now.«

This time, she didnʼt even try to plead with him. Three seconds had been enough to put him under a spell. Aurora didnʼt know why she was able to do that, she just knew that her mother kept her away from men and society because of it. To keep her safe from men who lost all their reason when their eyes met hers.

His chapped lips found her neck, nibbling and biting it. He moaned, warm, wet breath washing over her skin. Something hard pressed against her thigh. It felt so gross—Aurora wished she could just die. After failing her mother she was certain she deserved it. She closed her eyes again, just waiting for it to end. Maybe he would kill her afterwards, believing she was a man-eating witch or something.

And then, another loud sound reached her. A sound she had never heard before, leaving her ears ringing. The heavy body above stilled, and like all strength left his body, he fell onto her, pressing her even more into the floor.

Another set of footsteps neared—no two, she noticed—, the heavy body disappeared. Greedily, Aurora sucked in air that had been pressed out of her lungs earlier. She was still alive but that didnʼt mean that whoever entered the room was an ally. Killing off that man so easily, they could be very well after her life too.

»Miss, are you okay?« A friendly and cheerful voice asked. Another man.