BGM Recommendation: Agnes Obel – The Curse
——————————————————————————————
Lilith had a date tonight.
Lucian didn't mean to see it. He was just passing by her room after using the bathroom—then paused.
The door wasn't fully closed.
And through the narrow gap, he saw her—wearing a white lace bodysuit, glossy curls spilling down her shoulders, heels dangling from her fingers, crimson lips parted in surprise.
She turned to shut the door in a flash.
He didn't move. Leaning against the frame, his gaze slid from her bare collarbone to her legs. Hot. Sharp. Possessive.
"Get out," she snapped, low and clear.
He didn't budge. "When I'm not around... do you dress like this for other men too?"
She didn't answer—just shot him a quick, irritated glance, the kind reserved for a misbehaving child.
But that one glance—
It broke him.
His chest burned. His hands clenched.
She had never seen him as a man.
But tonight, something snapped inside him.
This wasn't about being obedient anymore. Not about being her shadow, her loyal dog.
This was desire.
Possession.
The kind that made him want to put a bullet through any man who'd seen her like this.
——————————————————————————————
Flashback: The First Time She Looked at Him
"She grew up in a warzone. He grew up in silence."
Lilith never knew where exactly she was born—somewhere on the borderlands of Southeast Asia. She never met her biological parents. The ones who raised her came from the United States, or so people guessed. No one dared ask where Jaguar and Jasmine had really come from.
They weren't merchants. Not really.
Their aura smelled of gunpowder, not money.
"Lilith" was the name they gave her. From a young age, she was drawn to weapons. Jaguar taught her to assemble and disassemble guns like toys. Jasmine taught her to lie with a smile.
And Lilith… loved the smell of old revolvers and the click of metal in the quiet of dawn.
She wasn't raised in peace.
Outside their compound, explosions and gunshots were routine. Before every outing, Jaguar handed her a small pistol like it was part of her uniform.
"Don't panic. Every bullet must be worth it."
She didn't understand what "worth it" meant—but she understood: don't shoot unless it's life or death.
One trip changed everything.
Jasmine had already dyed her black hair blonde. Jasmine said it helped her pass as foreign. But they never let their guard down.
After church, they made a quick stop at a corner store near the neighborhood. It was rare to find bread and milk, and for them, that was a luxury.
Just as they were stepping out, a gunshot cracked through the air.
Jaguar didn't even flinch—he yanked Lilith into his chest and pulled both her and Jasmine into a narrow space by the wall. His hand was already inside his coat, fingers wrapped tight around the handle of his gun.
He turned to glance through the cracked window.
The street had frozen, then scattered—like someone had whipped a crowd of ants. People ran. Screamed. One shot had caused all that. And then—silence. Not safety. Just warning.
They didn't linger.
They melted into the panic like shadows.
That's when she saw her.
A woman was coming toward them—against the current. Her scarf was tattered, her steps unsteady, and she clutched a scrawny little boy like her life depended on it. Her voice cracked as she begged every person around her.
"Please… just some food… anything…"
No one listened. No one even slowed down. Fear had made them deaf.
Jaguar's eyes swept over the scene. Then he called out quietly, "Jasmine."
Jasmine didn't ask questions. She reached into her coat and pulled out a small loaf of bread. Handed it over.
The woman stared, stunned, before bursting into quiet sobs. She dropped to her knees, covering her face.
It was the first time in days someone had treated her like a human.
She took the bread like it was sacred, broke it into pieces, and began feeding the boy with trembling hands.
Lilith stood a few feet away, staring.
That boy… he was tiny. Dirty. Barely standing. He couldn't have been much younger than her, and yet he looked like a shadow of a child. Like he didn't even know how to ask for help anymore.
Something stirred in her chest—tight, hot, unfamiliar.
As her parents turned to leave, Lilith suddenly reached out and grabbed her father's sleeve.
Jaguar glanced down. "What is it?"
She pointed. Her voice was small but steady.
"I want to give him more. He looks… like he needs it."
Jaguar didn't hesitate. He handed her a bottle of milk. "Go on. We've got your back."
Lilith walked over, slowly. She crouched down, opened the bottle cap, and held it out to the boy.
He didn't move at first—just stared at her with wide, hollow eyes. Not scared. Just… gone.
And then, something flickered.
He reached out. Took the milk. And for the first time, tears began to fall down his dirt-streaked face.
That moment—quiet, fragile, real—etched itself into her.
She didn't know his name. Didn't know his story.
But she knew one thing.
He was the first person she ever wanted to save.
——————————————————————————————
From that moment on, Lilith became his world.
And he—was the first person she ever chose to save.