SERAPHINE
The city lights glittered outside the penthouse window, but inside, the room was silent except for the occasional hum of the refrigerator and the distant murmur of traffic.
I sat curled on the sofa, knees drawn up, staring blankly at the floor. Memories of last night still burned hot in my chest, a tangled mix of desire and dread.
Azrael entered without knocking, as usual, his presence filling the room before he even spoke.
He leaned against the door. "You're thinking," he said, voice low.
"About last night, aren't you?"
I flushed but looked away, trying to appear composed. "I'm… just… tired."
"Tired?" His lips curved, almost a smirk, but his gaze never wavered. "You don't look tired. You look… unsettled.
Hungry.
Wanting."
My breath caught.
He always knew, always saw me. Even when I tried to hide, he could read every reaction, every twitch, every flutter of my pulse.
Exactly like the night before and worse.
Azrael moved closer, each step measured, deliberate. He sat beside me, close enough that the air between us seemed to hum.
"Do you remember the first time I saw you?" he asked quietly, almost as if speaking to himself.
I shook my head slightly, curiosity mixed with fear.
"No…"
His dark eyes softened for a fraction of a second, a flash of something I had never seen before. "You were laughing… small, innocent, full of life.
Your family was happy around you. You didn't belong to anyone not to me, not yet."
I swallowed, heart tightening.
A memory surged unbidden flashes of my own past, before the fame, before the darkness: my parents smiling at me in the morning light, a house full of warmth and laughter, a life I had lost piece by piece.
Azrael's hand brushed mine careful, almost gentle and yet, even this simple touch felt like possession. "You're not that girl anymore," he said softly.
"But even broken,
My pulse quickens.
And somewhere deep inside, part of me wanted to let it tighten.