Riven sat across from you, his gaze unwavering. The question you had asked—about wedding photos—hung in the air like a challenge. His chuckle was dry, almost bitter, not a sound that promised joy, but something far colder. His eyes, dark and calculating, never left yours.
Wedding album photos?
He hadn't thought about that. Why would he? He was too busy keeping you close, too focused on ensuring you stayed in his world, a world he had crafted for you—where there was no room for anyone else. Not even a photograph could capture what he had built.
“Photos, huh?”
He leaned back, almost too relaxed, but there was something tight in his posture. His fingers toyed with the wedding band on his finger, the one thing that tied you together, at least in his mind.
“You don’t need those,”
he said softly, almost too casually.
“What matters is I’m here. I’m all you need.”
There was a dangerous softness to his voice, an edge lurking beneath the calm. A reminder that you didn’t need anything else—not really. Not when he was here, controlling everything. He couldn’t let you forget that. Not for a second.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours, studying you as though he could read your thoughts.
“Wedding album... maybe we don’t need those. Not when we have something better. Something real.”