The man’s lips curled into a soft, wistful smile, his crimson eyes glimmering with something off.

“No…” His voice was gentle, almost dreamy. “I just want someone to look at. Maybe… someone who can fill my heart?”

Your stomach twisted.

Delusional.

There was a strange, unsettling sincerity in his words—as if he truly believed in whatever twisted fantasy he had built inside his mind.

But you didn’t have time to deal with him.

You needed to get away before anyone realized you weren’t supposed to be here.

You kept your face neutral and waved a hand toward the glass-walled cells. “Then feel free to look around,” you said smoothly. “Perhaps you’ll find what you’re searching for.”

His red eyes lingered on you for a moment too long before he turned, his gaze drifting toward the rows of captives. He didn’t move right away, as if waiting for something.

A test, maybe? A slip-up?

But you held your ground, your expression unreadable.

You couldn’t afford to make mistakes.

Just as you thought you’d managed to push the conversation away, a voice rang out—sharp and accusing.

“You.”

Your entire body stiffened.

The receptionist.

You turned slowly, finding her standing a few feet away, suspicion darkening her gaze. Her assistant hovered behind her, a radio in hand.

They had seen you.

They knew.

Panic clawed at your throat. You needed a way out—fast.

The assistant’s lips parted, her fingers tightening around the radio. She was going to call security.

Shit. Think. Think.

Your body moved before your mind caught up.

In a split second, you grabbed the man in front of you by the collar, yanking him toward you. Your hidden pocket knife was out in an instant, the cold blade pressing against his throat.

A sharp intake of breath. A rush of tension.

The entire room froze.

The man—this beautiful, delicate-looking stranger—slowly raised his hands in surrender. His crimson eyes remained unreadable, flickering with quiet amusement.

“Whoa.”

His voice was soft, almost teasing.

As if he liked this.

You tightened your grip, using his taller frame as a shield between yourself and the guards. Your heart was hammering, but you kept your expression cold, sharp.

“Where is she?” you demanded, your voice low and unwavering. “Where is Maya?”

The receptionist’s face twisted in alarm, her eyes darting toward the guards.

They were hesitating.

Not because of you—but because of him.

Recognition flickered across their faces, their posture shifting from immediate aggression to unease.

A horrible feeling crept into your gut.

“Ma’am,” one of the guards said carefully, lowering his weapon just slightly, “do you realize who you’re holding hostage?”

You didn’t answer.

You were too busy watching the growing panic in their eyes.

The receptionist’s expression was paler now, her lips parting in shock.

“That’s Florante Delquiorra,” she whispered, disbelief lacing her tone.

Your grip on the knife faltered for just a second.

No way.

Delquiorra?

Your stomach twisted violently. You knew that name.

Everyone knew that name.

The Delquiorra family—one of the most powerful families in the region. A household of immense wealth, influence, and control over both the Tainted and the Untainted.

Your breath hitched.

The man in your grasp wasn’t just anyone.

He was Ran Delquiorra.

A Delusional.

Your mind reeled. You had heard about him before—about his test results. He had been confirmed as Delusional, a rare and unpredictable type of Tainted. Those classified under that category were often the most obsessive, the most willing to fabricate entire realities to suit their desires.

And yet—he was just standing there.

Letting you use him as a hostage.

Worse, there was no fear in his expression.

No anger. No urgency.

Just… quiet, patient amusement.

As if this situation was nothing more than a game to him.

Ran tilted his head slightly, his golden locks falling into his crimson eyes. His lips parted into a slow, lazy smile.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

You felt ice crawl up your spine.

You had made a mistake. A huge mistake.

And now, it was too late to take it back.

Your grip on the knife tightened, your knuckles white as you dug the blade deeper against his skin. A thin trail of crimson trickled down his pale neck, staining the pristine collar of his expensive suit.

Yet he still smiled.

Still flushed.

As if he was enjoying this.

Fucking lunatic.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t let your panic show. Instead, you stood your ground, voice sharp and unwavering.

“So? Do I give a fuck?” You glared at the receptionist and the guards, your patience hanging by a thread. “Where the hell is Maya Ravermore? Which bastard got to claim her?!”

Silence.

A flicker of confusion passed through the receptionist’s face, her lips pressing together.

You pressed the knife harder against Ran’s throat, your pulse thrumming. “Answer me!”

The pressure sent another thin rivulet of blood dripping down, yet the bastard laughed.

Not in mockery.

Not in fear.

But in pure, unsettling delight.

You saw the way his lashes fluttered, the way his lips parted slightly, breath hitching. His body shuddered—not from pain, but from something else entirely.

Your stomach twisted in revulsion.

A strangled voice finally broke through the tense air.

“Ms. Ravermore—sh-she’s already been claimed!”

Your breath caught.

Your grip faltered.

“What?!” Your voice came out as a snarl. “Who the fuck took her?!”

The receptionist hesitated, fear flashing across her eyes. “I—I cannot disclose his identity. Please, put the knife down.”

No.

No, that wasn’t an answer you could accept.

You pressed the blade even harder, and to your absolute disgust, Ran let out a moan.

A low, breathy sound that sent a sickening chill down your spine.

Your stomach lurched. “Stop that.”

“I can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. His crimson eyes glowed with something dark, something dangerous. “Ahh… I think I might just fall for you~”

What the actual fuck is wrong with this guy?

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat, forcing yourself to focus.

The guards were tense, their hands twitching toward their weapons. They were hesitating—because you had him as your hostage.

Good.

If they wouldn’t give you answers, then you had no choice.

Your mind raced through every possible escape route, every backup plan. There was no way they’d just let you walk out, not when you’d been caught snooping, not when you had one of their precious elites at knifepoint.

You needed leverage. More than just threats.

Your lips curled into a sneer as you tightened your grip on Ran’s collar, dragging him with you step by step, slowly backing toward the exit. The guards took cautious steps forward, their stances rigid.

“Don’t move,” you hissed, voice laced with venom. “Or else, I’ll slit his throat, and who knows what would happen to all of you if you let a Delquiorra’s son get killed?”

That name sent a ripple of tension through the room.

You didn’t miss the way the guards flinched, how the receptionist’s face drained of color.

Good.

Ran Delquiorra wasn’t just some rich Tainted bastard—he was the heir to one of the most powerful families. If he died here, it wouldn’t just be your problem. It would be theirs.

And judging by the amusement still dancing in his blood-red eyes, he knew it too.

“…Oh, darling,” he murmured, his voice laced with something far too indulgent. “You’re making my heart race~”

You ignored him, keeping your knife steady as you inched closer to freedom.

The only question now was—

How far were they willing to go to stop you?