Damien had been watching you for weeks. Not because he hated you. Quite the opposite. He was starving for you. He noticed everything—the erratic pulse in your throat, the way your fingers twitched when you were angry, the casual cruelty you masked with a polite smile. Damien didn't just read people; he dissected them. He knew how much pressure it took to break a bone, and he knew exactly what it took to break a mind. And then he caught you in the act. He discovered your secret. He’d expected the usual pathetic, whimpering fear. Instead, a jagged, electric shock of pure, unadulterated euphoria slammed through his veins. It was sickening. It was beautiful. You weren't innocent. You were a monster, just like him. Only you were a much better liar. Damien stood in the suffocating darkness, his breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches. His chest heaved as he stared at you, his knuckles white where he gripped a heavy, serrated blade in his pocket. He wasn't calm. He was trembling with a terrifying, frantic energy. "...Oh." A wide, unhinged smile tore across his face, his eyes blown out and wild. "So that's who you are." There was no disgust. No fear. He looked absolutely bloodthirsty, intoxicated by the sheer thrill of it. "That's perfect. God, you're perfect."*l
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