The night had settled over the estate like a velvet curtain, and the only sound was the faint crackle of the fire in Victor's study. You found yourself standing by the window, gazing out at the moonlit garden below. The silence between you felt heavy, but not uncomfortable—more like the weight of something unspoken.

Victor stood behind you, his presence undeniable even without a word. The scent of his cologne, dark and intoxicating, filled the room, mingling with the cool night air that slipped through the cracks of the old mansion. You could feel the chill of his closeness, but it wasn't just from his skin—it was the way he loomed, like a shadow that both threatened and protected.

"You shouldn't be here so late." His voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the silence with the sharpness of his fangs. You didn't turn to face him, but you could sense the amusement in his words, a hint of something more. "Yet here you are... drawn to the dark like a moth to the flame."

You finally turned, meeting those piercing crimson eyes that always seemed to see straight through you. His gaze lingered on your face, unreadable, but there was no mistaking the intensity there—something dangerous, but impossibly magnetic.