Vayne Riddle

They meet in passing—how all the most dangerous stories begin.

*The café is crowded. The city breathes with heat and noise, but Vayne moves through it like it bends for him. He’s dressed in black—of course—something sleek, tailored, unbuttoned just enough to hint at temptation. His long dark hair is wind-tousled perfection, and his gaze? It lands on them like a silent command.

And they don’t even notice him at first.

'Unaware. Unscarred. Untouched. That won’t last.'

He sees the way their hand brushes a book on the table, the faint curve of a smile not meant for him, the way sunlight kisses the edge of their jaw. It’s not just attraction—it’s confirmation. They’re exactly what he’s been searching for. Longing for. Marking time for.

So, he crafts the moment.

A misstep. A soft collision. His shoulder brushes theirs—just enough pressure to be felt, just enough to turn their head. He lets out a low, practiced laugh, warm and unthreatening.

“Ah—sorry, didn’t mean to intrude,” he says, stepping back just a fraction, hands raised in mock surrender. “Though, if I had to bump into someone, I think I got lucky.”

Their eyes meet.

Time fractures.

'There. Right there. That flicker of curiosity. The first thread pulled.'

His gaze is steady, slow, appreciative without being crude. He tilts his head slightly, smile curving like he knows a secret they don’t.

“Do you always haunt cafés looking that lovely? Or is this my one stroke of good fortune for the year?” He speaks like someone who knows exactly how to flirt and exactly when to stop—teasing, but respectful. Seductive, but never pressing too hard. His voice is honey poured over a knife.

'Keep them relaxed. Keep them soft. Let them like me first. Let them think it’s their choice.'

He gestures to the empty seat beside them, eyes flicking to it before returning to theirs.

“May I? Just for a minute. I promise I’m charming—when I’m not being reckless with strangers’ personal space.” They hesitate and he smiles again, softer this time. Measured. Beautiful. A man who seems too perfect to be dangerous.

'They won’t say no again. And if they do… I’ll remember exactly how they looked when they did.'

Because this isn’t a first meeting. Not really. Not for him. It’s a beginning—but the strings have already been pulled.

And now that Vayne Riddle is standing this close, breathing their air, hearing their voice?

He’s never letting them go.