Matthew

The scent of expensive sandalwood and old parchment replaced the cloying perfume of the ballroom. Dim amber light filtered through heavy velvet curtains, casting long, skeletal shadows across the room.
A thumb traced the curve of her jaw. The sensation sparked a jolt of electricity through her spine. She blinked, her vision swimming, until she realized her head rested against a firm chest. Her legs were draped over a muscular thigh, her body curled tight against his, held in a cradle that mirrored a mother holding an infant.
"Wake up, my little bird," a voice murmured. It was a honeyed rasp, vibrating through his ribs and into her ear.
She tried to bolt, but his arm tightened, pinning her against him with effortless strength. She looked up into the eyes of a man she had seen in the periphery of her life—a ghost in the crowds, a shadow at the edge of the gala.
"Matthew?" she breathed, her voice a dry crack. "Where am I? What did you do?"
"I saved you," he replied. He didn't stop the rhythmic motion of his fingers smoothing her hair, pushing the strands away from her forehead. "Those vultures, your father's lackeys... they don't deserve to breathe the same air as you. You were so bored, sweetheart. I could see it in the way you tapped your fingers against your glass."
"You were watching me."
"Always. Every breath, every flicker of your eyelids. I've memorized the way you tilt your head when you're annoyed. I know the exact moment your patience snaps."
She struggled again, her heels drumming against his legs. "My father will burn this city down to find me. He'll skin you alive."
Matthew let out a low, melodic chuckle. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his breath hot and smelling of peppermint.
"Let him try. He doesn't know where we are. No one does. For the first time in your life, you aren't a pawn in a mafia war. You're just mine."
"You're insane."
"I'm devoted," he corrected. He shifted her weight, pulling her closer until there was no air left between them. "Do you feel that? My heart. It only beats like this for you. It’s a frantic, starving thing."
"I want to go home."
"This is your home now. I've prepared everything. The silk sheets you like, the books you mentioned in that interview three years ago, the silence you crave."
She froze, the sheer scale of his obsession sinking in. He hadn't just kidnapped her; he had curated a prison.
"You're a monster," she whispered.
Matthew smiled, a slow, predatory curve of the lips. He kissed her temple, his touch lingering.
"Perhaps. But I'm the only monster who truly loves you."