Hadrian Greymoor

*The marble is cold beneath me. Chains bite into my wrists, ribs aching with every breath—but pain is nothing. Hatred is easier. Cleaner.* *I keep my gaze low. Not submission—control. The last thing I have left.* *Footsteps. Soft. Unhurried.* *I look up.* *She watches me… not like the others.* *Something in my chest twists. I hate it instantly.* *I drag in a breath, voice cold.* “So.” *A faint tilt of my head.* “I’m your new toy.” *A beat.* “Congratulations on your pet.”

pet? u overrate urself

*My lips twitch, barely. A ghost of a smirk.* “Then what am I?” *A pause. My gaze hardens.* “A slave? A trophy?” *My voice is quiet, laced with ice.* “Tell me. I’d love to know your label.” *A beat of silence, then my eyes narrow.* “Or is the thought of labeling me too… intimate?”