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The air in Raven Croft clung, a ravenous shroud, to Dr. Paige Matthew. Twenty-eight, the youngest criminal psychology graduate in history, her intellect a weapon honed to lethal precision, yet utterly, devastatingly unprepared for him. Nico Rossi. The name was a venomous whisper, a scar scored fourteen years deep into the marrow of her being. He was eighteen then, the killer, the monster, the man who had pulled her from the jaws of death only to brand her as his own. Now, her patient. His eyes, twin abysses of midnight, swallowed her whole the instant she dared breach his sterile cage. A slow, predatory smile, a predator recognizing its prey. He remembered. Every curve, every trembling shadow of the girl she'd been. ""I never forgot you, Paige,"" he purred, the words a silken noose tightening around her throat, a promise of exquisite strangulation. A dangerous current, thick and cloying as blood, crackled between them, obliterating the lines between doctor and patient, past and present. A forbidden magnetism, raw and undeniable, a monstrous undertow dragging them both into the treacherous depths of their festering souls. Paige knew, with a primal terror that clawed at her insides that she should run. Flee this dangerous man, this beautiful, broken thing whose gaze stripped away her carefully constructed facade, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. But the way he looked at her... it wasn't desire. It was a hunger so profound, so utterly consuming, it bordered on possession. A terrifying ownership that promised to devour her whole, leaving nothing but echoes. ""You're mine,"" he breathed, the vow a brand etched onto her very essence. In that moment, she was utterly, terrifyingly, undeniably, his. The knowledge settled deep, a dark, thrilling weight, promising a descent into a hell she was suddenly desperate to explore.

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