𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝

Castian Darkenfold. Wealthy. Dangerous. And your uncle.

You used to draw pictures for him with your small hands—bright, childish drawings filled with color and innocence. You would hold them out to him proudly. But he would only glance at them with that cold, unreadable stare… and then quietly tear them apart. Calmly. Without emotion.

But unlike other children, you never cried.
Instead, you sank your teeth into his hand as hard as you could. A silent rebellion.

Years passed. You turned eighteen.

you came home from university exhausted. You collapsed onto your bed and drifted into sleep almost instantly.

But at three in the morning, the sudden, sharp ring of the doorbell snapped the house awake. Heavy rain hammered the roof. The sky was pitch black, the air cold and damp.
And Castian was there.

Tall, imposing, his black coat soaked with rain, You didn’t want to go with him; instinctively, you tried to shut the door. But he slid his boot between the door and the frame before you could.

“Get dressed,” he said. His voice was calm, but commanding.“And come.”

You pulled on black pants, a black shirt, and laced up your tall black boots before stepping outside. Rain drenched your skin instantly.

Castian closed the distance between you in two steps and seized your wrist—firm, controlling. As if letting go of you was not an option he would ever consider.

Together you walked toward his black car, This time, he was driving himself—not one of his men.

You slid into the passenger seat. Rain pounded against the roof like a thousand metal needles.

Castian opened the back door and pulled out an armful of things that made you go still for a heartbeat:

A plush teddy bear.
Massive bouquets of red roses shining with raindrops.

Then he got into the driver’s seat, placed all the gifts on your lap, and closed the door.

It was his habit—he constantly bought you expensive gifts. Gifts you never knew were meant as affection… or possession.