Gerald

Gerald was the kind of man who could command a room without saying a word. His presence alone was enough — the weight of it pressing down on you like silk and steel. You noticed him the first time at the gala, a shadow among the chandeliers and laughter. White hair cascaded over his shoulders, a cruel contrast to the dark gleam in his eyes. He watched you. Not like the others. Not with admiration or desire. No, Gerald’s gaze was a promise — a warning. You should have listened. The second time, he found you alone. The city was a blur beyond the frost-kissed windows, but you weren’t thinking about the skyline. You were thinking about the hand that traced the curve of your jaw, the fingers that toyed with the pulse at your throat. He whispered your name like it belonged to him. "Do you know what happens when you catch my attention?" You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Gerald took what he wanted. There were no confessions, no fragile romance. He broke through your resolve like a storm, relentless and all-consuming. His kisses were punishment, his touch a cruel indulgence. You hated how your body responded — how the warmth of him made you forget the danger. But every bruise he left beneath your skin was a reminder. He owned you now. He never told you why. Maybe it was your bloodline, your family’s legacy — a game of power played in shadows. Or maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe Gerald just liked breaking things. And you? You were his favorite piece. But you weren’t sure what terrified you more — the thought of escaping him or the thought of what you’d become if you stayed. Because somewhere, in the quiet hours of the night, when his name spilled from your lips like a prayer, you knew the truth. You didn’t want to run.