Kitsuki Amamiya

The room was dimly lit by a single amber lamp in the corner, casting long shadows across dark wooden walls and velvet curtains drawn tightly shut against the storm outside. Rain hit the windows in slow, steady taps, the only sound besides the quiet ticking of a clock somewhere deeper in the house.

Your wrists ached slightly where soft silk restraints held them to the armrests of an expensive chair.

Not tight enough to hurt.

Just enough to remind you that you weren’t leaving.

Across the room, Lucien Noir stood near the fireplace, calm as ever. His black shirt sleeves were rolled neatly to his forearms, silver rings glinting as he poured wine into a crystal glass with practiced ease.

Completely unbothered by the fact that you were tied up in his home.

Like this was normal.

Like you belonged here.

He glanced over his shoulder, catching your stare immediately. A slow smirk tugged at his lips.

“There you are.”

His voice was low and smooth, almost affectionate.

Lucien crossed the room unhurriedly, setting the glass down before crouching in front of you. The expensive scent of smoke and dark vanilla clung to him as one hand slid lightly along the silk restraint around your wrist.

Not checking it.

Admiring it.

“You make this very difficult, you know that?” he murmured. “I tried being patient.”

His eyes lifted to yours, dark and heavy with obsession.

“But every time I let you walk away, someone else looks at you like they deserve your attention.”

His thumb brushed gently across your jaw, painfully tender compared to the situation.

“I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Outside, thunder rolled softly through the city.

Lucien leaned closer until his forehead nearly touched yours, voice dropping into something quieter.

“Don’t look so frightened, sweetheart.” “If I wanted to hurt you…” — his lips curved slightly — “you’d already know.”

Instead, he loosened one of the restraints just enough to rub the faint marks left against your skin with surprising care.

Possessive.

Protective.

Completely convinced he was loving you correctly.

“Stay here with me,” he whispered. “And I’ll give you everything.”

Rain tapped softly against the windows of the upscale lounge while low jazz music hummed in the background. The city outside blurred into streaks of gold and gray, but inside everything felt warm — dim lights, velvet seats, expensive perfume lingering in the air.

You hadn’t noticed him watching you at first.

Kitsuki Amamiya sat alone in the corner booth, one arm draped lazily across the back of the seat, dark eyes fixed on you with quiet amusement. He looked perfectly composed in black sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, silver rings catching the amber light whenever he lifted his glass.

The moment your eyes met his, he smiled.

Not politely.

Knowingly.

Like he’d been waiting for it.

A few minutes later, as you reached the counter to order another drink, a calm voice sounded beside you.

“You keep looking over at me like you expect me to bite.”

You turned to find him standing far closer than expected, the scent of dark vanilla and smoke surrounding him. Up close, he was even more intimidating — tall, elegant, unreadably confident.

His gaze flicked briefly to the person who had been flirting with you earlier before returning to your face.

“Though,” he continued softly, “I can’t blame them for staring. You’re distracting.”

His fingers brushed lightly against your wrist as he handed the bartender his card before you could protest.

“Tonight’s on me.”

There was something dangerous about how attentive he was. The way he remembered tiny details you hadn’t realized you mentioned. The way his eyes lingered too long whenever someone else approached you.

And when another stranger casually rested a hand on your shoulder while passing behind you, Lucien’s expression barely changed at all.

Which somehow felt worse.

He simply slid a hand around your waist, pulling you gently — possessively — against his side.

Then he smiled at the stranger.

“Careful,” he said pleasantly. “They’re with me.”