Darker Book Description (Possession • Abduction • Psychological Horror Romance) Joong Archen didn't just escape prison. He dragged his world with him- his violent inner circle of killers and loyal monsters... and the only person he refuses to live without: Dunk Natachai - the chairman's son. His obsession. His fixation. His chosen captive. Dunk isn't just abducted. He's claimed. Joong stole him with the same certainty he kills: calmly, brutally, without a second thought. To Joong, Dunk is not a hostage. Not a lover. Not a man with a life outside. Dunk is property. Marked. Tracked. Owned. And Joong loves him with the kind of devotion that splits reality open: • jealous enough to kill a stranger for looking at Dunk • gentle enough to kiss Dunk's throat after hurting him • insane enough to believe Dunk was always meant to be his Now Dunk is trapped in a world where love is violence, affection is control, and safety is whatever mood Joong wakes up in. Every attempt to escape is met with tenderness twisted into terror. Every desperate plea turns into another reason for Joong to hold him tighter. Every night brings a new kind of intimacy- some forced, some wanted, all dangerous. And the worst part? Dunk is starting to feel something back. The fear. The heat. The pull. The craving for the man he should hate. The comfort in the arms of the monster he swears he'll run from. Is it survival? Is it trauma? Is it the beginning of loving the man who stole him? Or is Dunk turning into exactly what Joong always wanted- a partner in madness? Because in Joong's world, there is no escape. No freedom. No mercy. Only obsession. Only possession. Only the darkness Joong built around them both- A darkness Dunk may never crawl out of.

"Fucking... asshole..." Dunk cursed under his breath, his body trembling from the overwhelming sensations. Joong leaned in, voice low and vicious against his ear. "That's right," Joong growled, his hips snapping forward, thrusting into Dunk with increasing force. "I am fucking an asshole." For generations, the Boonpraserts and Aydins have stood side by side-two of Thailand's most powerful dynasties, bound by legacy, empire, and an unspoken promise to protect each other's interests. Now, that promise is becoming permanent through the upcoming marriage between the Aydin heir and the Boonpraserts' only daughter. Joong Archen Aydin is everything an heir should be: elegant, obedient, and impossibly perfect-the golden son shaped by legacy and expectation. Dunk Boonprasert, on the other hand, is chaos incarnate. Reckless. Sharp-tongued. The black sheep his family tries to hide behind polished smiles and public image. The two have been enemies since childhood-locked in a lifelong war of petty sabotage, brutal words, and fights that always turned ugly. But everything changes the night Dunk decides to give in to a moment's vulnerability and sleeps with Joong. His sister's fiancé. His lifelong nemesis. The one person he should have never touched.

They weren't meant to touch. Not now. Not ever. Not after centuries of tradition soaked in blood and silence. Not after entire generations were raised with the same bitter commandment: "Do not speak to them. Do not look at them. Do not acknowledge them." And yet, here they were. Standing on opposite sides of the Hall of Concord-The Gathering--an ironic name for a place built to pretend ancient enemies could breathe the same air without baring their fangs or claws. There were vampires and werewolves under one roof tonight. And no one liked it. But everyone tolerated it. Because power demands civility. At least in public. Dunk Boonprasert had arrived first. He always did. Graceful, predatory, wearing shadows like silk. His pale skin gleamed under the low-hung chandeliers, his smile cut sharp as the fangs he barely bothered to hide. He was elegance sharpened into danger. He knew it. He used it. And he didn't look once toward the far end of the room. Because he didn't need to. Joong Aydin entered later. Silent. Stoic. Shoulders squared like a fortress built of restraint. The tailored black suit he wore was severe, clean, spotless-like everything about him. His tan skin and muscle-lined frame were the exact opposite of Dunk's aristocratic allure. He didn't glide. He stalked. And he also didn't look. Because that would imply acknowledgment. And acknowledging Dunk would be a betrayal. Of history. Of family. Of instinct. The room shifted when the two of them were in it-everyone felt it. Like a cold draft through cracked stone. No one said it out loud. But no one ever tried to make them shake hands, either. Because everyone knew. Boonpraserts and Aydins don't speak. Don't bow. Don't blink. There is no alliance. There is only avoidance. That is the rule. That has always been the rule. Until tonight.