"Do you want to kiss me, Ale?" I asked innocently, a smirk playing at me lips.
"Don't fuck with me" His hands were in my throat. Squeezing.
"I'm not" I said, my voice changing with desire.
"kiss me" He commanded. And I did just that.
...
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He’s totally different than I thought.
For five years—five agonizing years—I imagined him to be this cold, distant figure. Mysterious. Scary. Dark. The kind of man whose presence chilled the room before he even entered.
I was right about all of it.
Tonight, I saw him fight. He moved like a predator, calculated and deadly. Every blow, every scold, all of it was sharp and perfect. Too perfect. No one is that flawless—not even him.
But then, I saw something break inside him. He wasn’t as stone-hearted as I had imagined.
Not completely, at least.
When I saw him with Liz, it was like watching a wall crack. His rough edges softened just a little, the coldness in his eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite place.
I realised in that moment he wasn’t the big, bad wolf he pretended to be. Oh, he was a wolf alright—but there was more. There were feelings deep inside him, hidden beneath the surface.
And that—oh satan, that—only made me obsess over him even more.
At first, I didn’t like Liz. I didn’t want to. When he mentioned her, I hated the idea of him being close to any other woman. Jealousy wrapped itself around me like a tight, suffocating grip. The thought of him caring about someone else gnawed at me.
But then…
I came downstairs that night, pretending I was thirsty. Truth is, I was just looking for his room. I got lost in the maze of hallways and found myself near the stairs. I wandered down, trying to be quiet. That’s when I heard her.
A little scream echoed through the quiet house. I turned and there she was—Liz. A small girl, maybe twelve, her blonde hair a contrast to Aleister’s jet-black.
But those eyes, those piercing grey eyes—they were identical. Except hers were full of innocent curiosity, while his were the clouds during a storm.
She immediately accused me of breaking into her home, her voice high-pitched and accusatory. I tried explaining, but her panic grew. The next thing I knew, a vase was nearly flying at my head.
But, of course, he showed up. My dark prince. He must have heard her scream. He saved me again.
The way he talked to her—it 'broke' me. His tone softened in a way I’d never heard before. He spoke with such care. I watched him, wishing I’d had someone like him in my life when I was her age. A protector. A guardian.
But then, he raised his voice. The suddenness of it rattled me, dragging me back to a place I didn’t want to revisit.
Memories. Loud voices. Gunshots. Screams.
“Please, stop!” I cried out, but the room faded, and all I could hear were those echoes from the past.
When he stopped, I barely registered it. All I knew was that I hated the loud. Loud was bad. Loud brought memories. That’s why I told him never to raise his voice again.
