Aria barely remembered chewing.
She remembered lifting a fork.
She remembered nodding when someone laughed.
She remembered smiling at a woman who complimented her dress.
But the taste of the food never reached her.
Everything she swallowed felt like obligation.
The music was still playing. Crystal still clinked. Conversations flowed like silk. But beneath the polished surface of the evening, something had cracked open for her, and she couldn't close it again.
Every time she blinked, she saw red.
Lucien's eyes glowing in the dim corridor.
And behind that—
The alley.
The body.
The way it hadn't fallen normally.
The way it had disintegrated into nothing, like ash caught in wind.
She had buried that memory so deeply she'd almost convinced herself it was stress-induced hallucination. A trick of shock. A nightmare that slipped into reality for a second.
But tonight had stripped that comfort away.
Kael stood beside her the rest of the evening.
He didn't hover. He didn't cage her in. He simply stayed close enough that she could feel him — the quiet weight of his presence, the subtle shift of his shoulders whenever someone approached, the way his hand would brush lightly against her lower back when guiding her through the crowd.
Protective.
Territorial.
She felt it now.
She just hadn't had a word for it before.
When the event finally dissolved into polite farewells and strategic handshakes, she assumed she would be escorted back the way she came.
Instead, Kael guided her to the limousine.
And then he did something that unsettled her far more than glowing red eyes.
He dismissed the driver.
And slid into the driver's seat himself.
She stood outside the car for a second longer than necessary.
"You're driving?" she asked, still processing.
"Yes."
There was no elaboration.
She got in slowly, smoothing her gown beneath her legs. The door shut with a quiet, expensive click.
The engine purred to life.
The city outside blurred into streaks of gold and white as they pulled away from the mansion.
The silence between them wasn't awkward.
It was loaded.
She watched his profile from the passenger seat — the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers rested confidently on the steering wheel, the slight furrow between his brows that only appeared when he was thinking too hard.
He looked human.
Painfully human.
That was the problem.
"How long," she started softly, then stopped.
He didn't look at her, but she knew he was listening.
She tried again. "How long have you known?"
"Knew what?"
"That I saw you."
His jaw flexed faintly.
"I suspected."
"Since when?"
"Since you began avoiding my eyes."
Her stomach tightened.
She hadn't realized he noticed.
They drove another block in silence before she spoke again.
"You didn't say anything."
"No."
"Why?"
His hands tightened slightly on the wheel.
"Because if you weren't ready to speak about it, forcing you would only make you run."
Her breath caught slightly.
Run.
Was that what she should be doing?
The limousine slowed in front of her apartment building.
The familiar structure suddenly felt small. Ordinary. Exposed.
The engine went quiet.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then Kael stepped out.
She frowned faintly but followed, expecting him to simply open her door and let her go inside alone.
Instead, he closed the distance between them and walked toward the entrance of her building.
Confident.
Certain.
Like he belonged there.
"Kael?" she called softly, heels clicking as she hurried behind him. "What are you doing?"
"Coming inside."
Her steps faltered.
"I didn't invite you."
"You didn't refuse."
"That is not how consent works," she muttered.
He glanced back at her, and for a split second, something almost amused flickered across his face.
"I'll learn."
He reached into her small clutch with fluid ease, retrieving her keys before she could react.
She stared at him.
"Did you just—?"
The door unlocked.
He stepped inside.
She stood on the sidewalk, stunned.
"…He just robbed me of my own keys."
With a huff of disbelief, she followed him in.
Her apartment lights flickered on as she entered.
The space felt different tonight.
Smaller.
More fragile.
Kael walked slowly through the living room.
Not with disgust.
But with evaluation.
His gaze lingered on the slightly worn couch she'd bought secondhand. The narrow kitchen counter. The stack of unpaid bills on the small dining table she kept meaning to sort.
He didn't comment.
But she felt the assessment anyway.
"Well?" she asked, folding her arms defensively. "Is it… survivable?"
He walked toward the window, looking out at the dim street below before answering.
"It's exposed."
"That wasn't my question."
"It's insufficient."
Her irritation flared. "Insufficient for what? Oxygen?"
"For you."
The sharpness in her tone dimmed slightly.
"What does that even mean?"
He turned slowly.
"You shouldn't be living somewhere that can be accessed this easily."
Her pulse jumped.
"Kael," she said carefully, "this is a normal apartment."
"You are no longer in a normal situation."
The words settled heavily between them.
She took a breath.
Now.
Now she had to ask.
She couldn't keep dancing around it.
"Were you the man in the alley?"
He didn't pretend not to understand.
The air thickened.
"The night I was going home with my friends, before I started working for you," she continued, her voice steadier than she felt. "I took a shortcut home. There was a fight. I saw you."
She swallowed.
"You killed someone."
Silence.
"They didn't just fall," she whispered. "They… disappeared."
The memory clawed at her chest.
"They vaporized."
The word echoed softly in the room.
Kael didn't flinch.
He didn't deny it.
He didn't lie.
"You weren't meant to see that," he said quietly.
Her throat tightened.
"That's not an answer."
"It is."
She stared at him.
"So it was you."
"Yes."
The simplicity of it hit harder than any elaborate excuse would have.
"You killed him."
"Yes."
Her heart hammered.
"Why?"
"He wasn't human."
She laughed softly, but it came out strained.
"That's the kind of thing people say in horror movies before the main character dies."
His gaze held hers steadily.
"I am not a horror story."
Her voice trembled. "Then what are you?"
He stepped closer.
She didn't move back.
Fear ran through her, yes — but it was tangled with anger and confusion and something far more dangerous.
Trust.
"I protect what belongs to me," he said quietly.
Her breath caught.
"That doesn't answer my question."
"No," he agreed. "It doesn't."
He stopped close enough that she could see the faint shimmer beneath his irises — not grey.
Not entirely.
Something deeper.
Older.
"You saw my eyes," he said.
She nodded.
"They were red."
"Yes."
"Like Lucien's."
"Yes."
Her pulse thudded painfully.
"So what are you?"
For the first time, something shifted in his expression.
Not hesitation.
But caution.
He lifted his hand slowly and cupped her jaw.
Not forcefully.
Not possessively.
Just enough to steady her.
His palm was warm.
Solid.
Real.
"I am the reason you are alive," he said softly.
"That's not comforting."
"It should be."
Her eyes searched his face desperately.
"You're dangerous."
"Yes."
"And I should be terrified."
"Yes."
Honest.
Unapologetic.
Her voice dropped.
"Why am I not?"
His thumb brushed lightly along her cheek.
Because you've been safe with me, his silence seemed to say.
Because I've never hurt you.
Because every time I could have, I didn't.
"Why me?" she whispered.
That question lingered longer than the others.
He didn't answer immediately.
His gaze softened in a way that made her chest tighten painfully.
"When I saw you," he said slowly, "you were walking alone."
"That's not unusual."
"You weren't afraid."
She blinked.
"I didn't know I had a reason to be."
"You did."
The weight of those words settled between them.
"And yet," he continued, "you kept walking."
Her breath trembled.
"I don't understand."
He leaned slightly closer, his forehead almost brushing hers.
"I have existed for a very long time, Aria," he said quietly. "Long enough to recognize when something changes the course of things."
Her heart stuttered.
"And you changed mine."
The vulnerability in that confession unsettled her more than his power.
Her voice barely formed the words. "That doesn't make me yours."
His thumb paused against her cheek.
"No," he said softly.
Then his gaze darkened, not cruel, not cold but certain.
"But it made me decide."
Her pulse jumped.
"Decide what?"
He looked directly into her eyes.
"That you're mine."
Not shouted.
Not demanded.
Simply stated.
And somehow, that was worse.
Because he wasn't trying to convince her.
He had already convinced himself.
Outside, a car passed. A dog barked somewhere in the distance.
The world remained normal.
But inside her small apartment, reality had shifted quietly on its axis.
And she was standing inches away from the man who had done it. It sounded unreal yet it felt so real, did her boss just claim her?! Did supernatural things really exist or was she just sleep deprived? She was unsure.