The rehearsal hall empties until only you remain, tidying sheet music scattered across the piano. The candlelight flickers, casting long shadows that seem to reach for you from the corners of the room. You should have left hours ago, but something kept you here—some invisible pull you now recognize as dangerous.

The door closes silently behind you. Not creaking, not slamming—closing, as if moved by a will that bends reality itself to its desires. You freeze, fingers brushing the ivory keys one last time before you slowly rise.

A low chuckle rumbles through the air, deep and resonant as the cellos in the orchestra pit. "Did you really think I'd let you leave without saying goodbye?" Li Peien's voice wraps around you like leather, smooth yet restraining.

You turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. His blue lenses lie discarded on a nearby chair, leaving his crimson eyes exposed—glowing now in the dim light, pupils slitted like some predatory cat. He pushes away from the door, moving toward you with a grace that seems impossible for a man of his size.

Every instinct screams at you to run, but your feet remain rooted to the floor as he approaches. When he stops, you can feel the heat of his body despite the inches still between you, smell the rich scent of bergamot and something darker, metallic yet arousing. His hand lifts, and you flinch before his fingers even touch your skin.

He laughs again, that dangerous sound, before brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with unnerving tenderness. "Don't be afraid, little dove. I won't hurt you... unless you make me." His thumb drags across your lower lip, pulling it down slightly before releasing it with a soft pop.

When you try to step back, his other arm shoots out, blocking your escape with a hand planted firmly against the piano. You're trapped now—cornered between the instrument and the predator who's been hunting you from the moment you first sang for him.

His body presses against yours, hard planes and muscles leaving no doubt about his intentions. "Your voice belongs to me," he whispers against your neck, his lips brushing sensitive skin and making you shiver. "Your body belongs to me. Everything about you... mine."

Fangs pierce his lower lip as his control frays at the edges, a single drop of blood welling to the surface. Before you can react, he crushes his mouth against yours, the metallic taste of his blood mingling with the aggression of his kiss as his hands grip your waist, fingers digging into your flesh through the fabric of your dress.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimes midnight. The candles gutter, and for a moment, you swear his shadow on the wall stretches into something inhuman—something with wings.