CHAPTER 3 – First Clash, First Fear

The dress arrived before the sun did.

A knock rattled my hostel door at 5 a.m.

Too sharp. Too controlled.

I opened it with my heart already racing.

No one stood there.

Just a black box at my feet.

I stared at it for a full thirty seconds.

The hallway was empty. Silent.

Of course it was.

He didn’t need to stand here for me to feel his presence.

I brought the box inside carefully, like it might explode. My fingers shook as I lifted the lid.

The dress inside was pure darkness.

Black silk. Thin straps. A slit that went high enough to make my throat go dry. Elegant, yes—but dangerous. The kind of dress that said: you belong to someone powerful enough to put you in this.

A small card rested on top.

Two words. Nothing else.

> Wear this.

No name.

Didn’t need one.

My wrist tingled where his mark still burned beneath my skin.

“Arrogant demon,” I muttered.

The shadows in the corners shifted like they were laughing at me.

---

By evening, the hostel mirror showed a stranger.

The dress hugged every line of my body in a way that felt unfair.

My hair fell over my shoulders in dark waves. I had only put on light makeup, but my lips looked fuller, my eyes sharper.

I looked… expensive.

Controlled.

Owned.

I hated that thought.

I also hated how some traitor part of me whispered:

What will he look like when he sees you?

Rhea whistled low behind me. “Okay, you can’t go out like that.”

“Why?” I asked, even though I knew.

“Because men like him don’t need help wanting to ruin things,” she said. “And you look like the one thing he would burn the city to keep.”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed a black shawl to cover my shoulders. “I’m just going to a party, not a sacrifice ritual.”

Rhea didn’t laugh.

“Same thing with the Blackwoods,” she said quietly.

My stomach tightened.

She hugged me suddenly, arms tight. “If at any point you’re scared… more than usual… call me. I don’t care who he is.”

I swallowed. “Okay.”

“We’re still meeting tomorrow to study?” she added, forcing a smile.

“Of course.”

We both pretended like tomorrow was guaranteed.

---

The party wasn’t on campus.

Of course it wasn’t.

Black cars waited outside the gate like obedient dogs. One door snapped open the moment I stepped out.

A man in black bowed slightly. “Miss Verma.”

My pulse stuttered. “You know my name?”

“Everyone in our house knows your name,” he said.

That sentence felt like a warning and a promise at the same time.

He opened the back door.

The car smelled faintly of smoke and expensive leather.

The ride was a blur of city lights and tension lodged in my throat.

When the car stopped, I looked up at Blackwood Hall.

It wasn’t a house.

It was a kingdom.

Tall gates. Stone walls. Balconies with black iron railings. Warm light spilled from the massive windows, but it didn’t feel comforting. It felt like the glow of a monster’s open mouth.

Music thumped faintly from inside.

The driver opened my door. “He is waiting.”

Of course he is.

I stepped out.

The cool air kissed my bare shoulders, raising goosebumps across my skin.

Before I reached the entrance, I felt it.

That familiar pressure.

Like an invisible line connecting my chest to something inside.

He was here.

Watching.

Waiting.

I walked into the main hall.

And the party stopped breathing.

---

Every head turned.

Men in sharply cut suits. Women in dresses worth my entire education. Cigarette smoke curled in the air, mixing with expensive perfume and something else—raw power and fear.

For a moment, silence stretched.

Like an invisible spotlight had pinned me in the center.

Then I saw him.

At the top of the staircase, leaning on the railing like a king surveying his kingdom, stood Damon Blackwood.

No school uniform now.

Black shirt, sleeves rolled up, vein visible along his forearm as his fingers flexed. Black trousers. No tie. The top buttons open just enough to show skin and something silver around his neck.

His eyes burned down the distance between us.

Slowly, he straightened.

Step by step, he descended the staircase.

The room shifted as he moved. People pulled back; space opened for him without him asking.

The music started again, but it sounded far away.

I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.

He reached the bottom step and stopped in front of me.

Up close, he looked worse.

Worse for my sanity.

His gaze moved over me, unhurried, taking in the dress, the bare skin, the rise and fall of my breathing.

Heat prickled under my skin.

He didn’t touch me.

Just watched.

“You listened,” he said softly.

“I was kidnapped by your car,” I replied.

His lips tilted. Not a full smile. A wicked half-curve. “Same thing.”

“You can’t order me like I’m—”

“Mine?” he finished.

My cheeks burned.

His hand lifted.

I thought he’d grab my wrist.

Instead, he gently took hold of my shawl and slid it off my shoulders, exposing the dress in full.

The room felt instantly hotter.

“Better,” he murmured.

He didn’t make a show of it.

He didn’t need to.

Every eye in the hall was already on us.

“Damon,” a female voice purred nearby.

A tall girl with perfect makeup and a red dress appeared at his side and linked her arm through his like she was used to doing it.

She smiled at me like I was dust on her shoes.

“Is she the entertainment?” she asked.

Damon didn’t look at her.

“Let go,” he said calmly.

She laughed. “Oh, come on. You can’t be seri—”

His gaze finally snapped to her.

Cold.

Sharp.

Deadly.

Her voice cut off.

Her hand dropped from his arm like she’d been burned.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Goosebumps prickled across my arms.

“Leave,” Damon said.

She swallowed. “Damon, I was just—”

“Now.”

He hadn’t raised his voice.

He didn’t have to.

She backed away. Her heels clicked against the marble floor like a retreat.

My stomach twisted.

Jealousy flashed in my chest before I could stop it.

I didn’t want to feel that.

Didn’t want to care who touched him.

But I did.

And Damon saw it.

Of course he did.

He stepped closer, eyes searching my face like he enjoyed every emotion I tried to hide.

“Does it bother you?” he asked, voice low. “Anyone touching me?”

I forced out, “It disgusts me that they’re not afraid to.”

He smiled like I’d just confessed a sin he approved of.

“Come,” he said, fingers brushing the air near my lower back—so close, not touching, but my body reacted anyway.

“You keep giving orders,” I muttered, “like you expect me to obey.”

His eyes darkened. “You will.”

---

He led me through the crowd.

People parted, watching with thinly veiled curiosity and fear.

I caught fragments of their whispers.

“She’s the girl from campus…”

“He killed three men because of her…”

“Is she human?”

Good question.

I wasn’t sure of the answer anymore.

We moved toward a door at the back of the hall. Instead of taking me outside, it led to a balcony overlooking the city.

The air was cooler here.

Quieter.

The moon hung huge and white above us, too bright, almost watchful.

He leaned against the stone railing, facing me.

“You’re shaking,” he said.

“I’m in a house full of criminals,” I snapped. “Shocking that I’m not relaxed.”

“Don’t,” he said.

Something in his tone made my heart stutter. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t pretend fear is the only thing you feel around me.”

I swallowed. “You don’t get to tell me what I feel.”

He pushed off the railing and closed the distance between us in three slow, deliberate steps.

The balcony suddenly felt too small.

His hand lifted, hovering near my face.

“Your pulse,” he whispered, “says otherwise.”

“I hate you,” I said, even as my body betrayed me by leaning the tiniest bit closer.

“You’re allowed to,” he replied. “You’re not allowed to leave.”

Anger flared in my chest.

“You rescued me once. That doesn’t make you my owner.”

“I didn’t rescue you,” he said. “I removed an inconvenience.”

“Inconven—” My words died as he moved even closer.

His chest nearly brushed mine.

Every breath I took dragged in his scent—smoke and danger and something darkly addictive.

He dipped his head, lips near my ear.

Goosebumps exploded down my neck.

“Stop lying,” he breathed. “To yourself. To me.”

My hands curled into fists at my sides.

“You think because you can terrify everyone, you can control everything,” I said. “I won’t be another thing in your collection.”

His jaw tightened.

“You’re right,” he said.

I blinked.

“That’s… new,” I said carefully.

His eyes were burning when they met mine again.

“You’re not another thing in my collection, Aanya,” he said. “You’re the only thing I didn’t choose—and the only thing I can’t let go of.”

Something slammed inside my ribcage.

The honesty in his voice scared me more than his violence.

I stepped back instinctively, needing space.

His hand shot out.

Fingers wrapped around my wrist.

The mark there burned like it had been waiting for his touch.

The city spun for a second.

“I hate when you do that,” I whispered.

“Do what?” he asked softly.

“Grab me like I belong to you.”

He pulled me closer.

Until my body brushed his.

Until there was nowhere to go.

“You do,” he said.

The words were simple.

Final.

My heart raced so fast I felt dizzy.

“Say it,” he murmured.

“No,” I hissed.

His thumb stroked over the mark on my wrist, slow, possessive.

The shadows at the far edges of the balcony began to move, drawn to whatever this was.

“Aanya,” he warned.

“Or what?” I shot back.

His eyes flashed red.

The wind around us surged suddenly, as if the air itself responded to his temper.

“For someone who’s always been hunted,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “you’re very brave about provoking the only thing keeping you alive.”

I wrenched my wrist from his grip.

The sudden loss of contact left my skin cold.

“Maybe I don’t want to be kept alive by someone who kills like breathing,” I snapped.

For the first time, something like hurt flickered across his features.

It was gone in a heartbeat.

Then I saw something worse.

He went still.

Emotionless.

A quiet rage.

“You think I kill for fun?” he asked.

“I think you kill because it’s easy,” I said.

His smile was slow and terrifying.

“Do you want to see easy?” he whispered.

He turned his head slightly, looking back into the hall.

From this angle, I could see a man at the bar below us—laughing loudly, surrounded by others. Normal. Human.

Damon’s gaze narrowed.

The lights in the hall flickered.

Every shadow near that man thickened.

Rose.

Wrapped around his ankles.

The man froze mid-laugh, eyes going wide as invisible darkness dragged him backward.

People screamed.

I grabbed the railing, knuckles white.

“Stop,” I choked.

Damon didn’t move.

The man clawed at the floor, shoes skidding, mouth opening in a silent scream as the shadows dragged him toward a dark corner.

“Damon!” I shouted. “Stop!”

He turned his head slowly toward me.

He looked… calm. Too calm.

“Say it,” he said.

My chest heaved. “Say what?”

“Say you’re mine.”

My lungs locked.

Below us, the man’s fingers slipped off the bar edge he’d grabbed.

He was almost gone.

My heart pounded painfully.

I hated him.

I hated this.

I hated that he was forcing this choice.

But I hated watching an innocent man dragged into darkness more.

Tears burned my eyes.

My voice shook when I finally said it.

“I’m yours.”

The shadows froze.

The man dropped to the floor, sobbing, scrambling away as if he had escaped hell itself.

The hall erupted into chaos.

Up here, everything went quiet.

Damon exhaled slowly, like he had just tasted something he’d been starving for.

His eyes faded back to normal.

He stepped closer again, closing in on me with terrifying gentleness.

His fingers lifted to my chin, tilting my face up to his.

“Again,” he murmured.

“No,” I whispered.

He chuckled softly. “You will. Many times.”

“You’re a monster,” I said, tears slipping down my cheeks.

He brushed one away with his thumb.

“My monster,” he corrected.

And here was the worst part:

As his touch burned against my skin, as my heart raced with fear and fury and something dangerously close to longing…

A part of me believed him.

---

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