Serpentine Desires

The prey

This... this felt surrel. To the point I couldn't believe my eyes.

Why would he send me this?

As I pulled out the red dress from the paper bag, my fingers brushed over the luxurious fabric. The tag—a name that screamed wealth—hung from the sleeve. My breath caught. It was something the younger me would've died to wear. Now? It felt like a noose tightening around my neck.

A box sat beside the dress, the lid slightly open. Cherry red heels, delicate and fierce, just like the man who'd chosen them. Next to that, a small box with diamond studs and a ribbon. The bow? Red, of course. It was all a message.

My hands trembled as I placed the dress back. But the thought of refusing him wasn't an option. I knew what he was capable of, what lines he wouldn't hesitate to cross. Wearing this dress—it wasn't just about dinner. It was control, and he had all of it.

Sighing, I grabbed the dress and put it on. Though the more the fabric touched my skin, the more it burned.

The reflection in the mirror wasn't mine. The dress hugged every curve, tailored to perfection.

Of course, it fit. Judas always knew. My pulse quickened as I slipped into the heels. My movements were mechanical, like I was assembling his perfect doll.

He wanted me to shine. But I was a star trapped in his sky, burning for his amusement. He took, without pause, without question. And now he wanted to dress me up, parade me around like his prized possession.

My lips twitched into a bitter smile. What choice did I have? Refuse, and the consequences would be far worse.

The truth was simple. Better a bird in a gilded cage than one with clipped wings.

I twisted my hair into a low bun, the strands slipping through my fingers, soft yet heavy, like the weight of his gaze. A few pieces fell loose, framing my face, an attempt at casualness that felt anything but.

The mirror reflected my neck—bruised, marred with the evidence of him. His mark. I reached for the concealer, dabbing it on with a steady hand, though my heart hammered in my chest. Each swipe over the bite marks felt like erasing a part of myself, as if hiding them would somehow make the truth disappear.

My foot throbbed in protest, still swollen from his last display of control, but the heels were non-negotiable. Red leather, sharp and sleek, they slipped on with a finality I couldn't escape. I strapped them tight, wincing as the pressure bit into my skin, my sprained ankle screaming in silence.

I stood, the woman in the mirror a stranger. Shoulders stiff, posture perfect, the dress clinging like a second skin. My lips curled into something that resembled a smile, but there was nothing warm about it. This wasn't me—this was the version he wanted. The one he created.

Just as I finished with putting on a red lipstick, the door creaked open, breaking the fragile eeriness in the room along with my peace. My pulse quickened, the sound drumming in my ears. Slowly, I turned, and my every movement was deliberate, like a prey cornered but refusing to run.

Time seemed to stretch into agonising seconds as the monster walked in.

His black tuxedo clung to his broad frame, crisp and perfect, as if it were made of shadows and danger. Something that defined him. He moved with an effortless grace, fingers adjusting his cuffs like this was all just routine—a man preparing for dinner, not a beast stalking his claim.

But it was the brooch that caught my eye. Red, deep as blood, gleaming from his chest. I swallowed hard, my throat tight.

He stood there, framed by the doorway, dark hair tousled just so, like a king stepping into his throne room. His jawline sharp, a mole resting beneath his full lips, adding an edge to his devilish beauty. Dimples appeared when the corner of his mouth lifted, a smile not quite reaching his eyes, those pale, piercing eyes that saw everything.

He was handsome—there was no denying it. The kind of handsome that makes you forget to breathe.

But beneath the surface, the monster lurked. It was in the way he held himself, the quiet power that rippled through his stance. The devil hiding in the dimples, the beast in the beauty.
You can put silk on a wolf, but its nature never changes.

Judas took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. The air thickened, and I forced myself to hold his gaze, though my body screamed to look away. His lips curled into that mocking smile, dimples deepening.

"Well," he drawled, his voice smooth as velvet. "Look at you, all dressed up like a good little doll. Almost perfect." He tilted his head, eyes flicking over me with a mix of approval and possession. "But you missed a spot." His finger trailed to my neck, brushing over the concealed bite marks. "Can't hide what's mine, no matter how hard you try."

Heat rushed to my cheeks, my pulse quickening. I shifted, my foot aching in the heels, but I didn't dare step back. His presence was suffocating, his proximity intoxicating, and yet terrifying.

"Cat got your tongue, little bird?" he teased, his voice low, almost a purr. "Or are you just pretending to be shy?" His hand moved to my chin, tilting my face up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "No need for that."

His thumb brushed over my lips, lingering there. The touch was possessive, like he was marking me without saying a word.

Wearing this dress didn't change anything. Pretty packaging, but I knew he could see right through it. The fear, the fight—it was all there, and he found it delicious.

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. Words failed me, trapped behind the tight knot of fear in my throat.

Judas's thumb lingered, pressing against my lips, his touch far too soft for someone like him. His gaze sharpened as if peeling away every layer I tried to hide behind, his smile darkening.

"You know I like when you don't talk back," he murmured.

I tried to look away, but his grip tightened on my chin, forcing my eyes back to his. His stare bore into me, and my pulse hammered in my ears.

Before I could respond, he grabbed my hand, and I stared at him in shock as he lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of my hand, slow and deliberate. The softness of it, the tenderness—it didn't suit him, didn't fit the man whose hands had caused so much pain.

"Pretend to be my date, and don't open this tempting mouth of yours."

I swallowed again, my throat tight, but managed to force out a whisper, "Why do you enjoy this?"

His grip tightened ever so slightly on my hand as he began guiding me toward the door. "Because I can," he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And because you let me."

I stared at him in disbelief. I let him? I? More like he forced me.

I ignored his words and flinched as he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me to the door. "Play along and I'll reward you."

Reward me. As if I was looking forward to any of his reward.

We stepped into the hallway, his arm sliding around my waist, pulling me close to his side. His presence swallowed me whole like a silent reminder of who held all the power here. Ahead of us, Kyle walked silently, his back stiff, leading the way.

As we moved, Judas leaned in, his lips grazing my ear. "Your performance will decide if you'll get to see your college or not."

I glanced up at him, unable to keep the fear from my eyes. "What... what do you want from me?"
He smirked, a devilish glint in his eye.

"Everything, ptichka. And I'll take it. Piece by piece."

His voice was calm, smooth, but the weight of it was crushing. As we reached the elevator, I couldn't shake the feeling that this dinner wasn't just a meal—it was the start of something far worse.

The lamb, heading straight for the slaughter.