"Do you remember the last time we did this in the car? You were so into it, weren’t you..." Chris whispered into Charlotte's ear, his voice strained by the last shred of his rationality. "Don't be afraid. I’ll be gentle this time..."

"No! Get off me!" Charlotte thrashed, trying to shove him away, but her strength was no match for his.

The drug had taken complete control of Chris’s senses. His skin felt like it was smoldering, and his pulse hammered with a singular, desperate need. He stripped off his shirt, pinning Charlotte’s hands above her head as he leaned in to claim her lips.

As Charlotte instinctively jerked her head to the side to avoid him, her eyes fell upon his bare lower back. She froze. The skin there was smooth and unmarked. The vicious, howling wolf head tattoo—the mark that had haunted her nightmares for four years—was nowhere to be seen.

Her eyes widened in a paroxysm of shock. It’s not him! It’s not! How can this be?

"Babe, I want you. Give it to me..." Chris growled, his mouth hovering inches from hers.

Slap! Charlotte’s palm connected with his face with a resounding crack. "You liar! You pathetic, lying fraud!"

"What?" Chris blurted out, the stinging pain momentarily clearing the drug-induced fog in his brain.

"You're not him! You don't have the wolf tattoo on your back!" Charlotte screamed, her voice trembling with a mix of terror and fury. "Who are you? Why did you pretend to be the man from that night? What are you trying to achieve?!"

"Does it even matter now?" Chris’s obsession flared back up, drowning out her questions. His body was a runaway train, and Charlotte was the only destination. "I love you, Charlotte. I want you. You're mine..."

He clamped both of her wrists in one hand, using the other to violently tear at her clothes.

"No! Let me go!" Charlotte fought like a cornered animal.

SCREECH!

At that exact moment, a black Rolls-Royce roared out of the darkness, colliding violently with the side of the Lamborghini. The impact was massive; the luxury car shuddered, and the force of the jolt threw Chris off her, sending him sprawling into the footwell.

Seizing the split second of freedom, Charlotte lunged for the door. She scrambled out but tripped, her knees hitting the hard pavement before she rolled into the jagged shadows of the nearby bushes. A sharp, stinging pain radiated from her shoulders and neck where the gravel had torn her skin.

She tried to push herself up, but her arms felt like lead. As she collapsed back onto the dirt, a pair of polished black leather shoes stepped into her line of sight.

Heart hammering against her ribs, she instinctively tried to crawl backward. But as she looked up, her breath hitched.

A towering silhouette stood over her, seemingly shimmering against the backdrop of the night. Behind a mysterious, familiar mask, a pair of eyes burned with a terrifying, incandescent rage.

It’s him! He’s really here!

"Gigolo..." The name left her lips by pure instinct. In that moment, the crushing weight of her fear vanished. The man she had been waiting for had finally arrived.

Zachary bent down, his movements a blend of power and grace as he gathered her into a protective embrace.

"Why didn't you listen to me?" his deep voice vibrated against her ear. He was clearly struggling to keep his tone calm, but the underlying thunder of his anger was unmistakable.

"Oh, it's really you!" Charlotte’s composure broke. She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest as the tears finally came. "I thought... I thought I’d never see you again!"

"Babe... wait..." Chris mumbled, stumbling out of the wrecked Lamborghini to pursue her.

But the sight that met him stopped the blood in his veins. A masked man in black was walking toward him, carrying Charlotte with the solemnity of a god of the underworld guarding his queen.

When Zachary’s gaze locked onto his, Chris felt as though he were staring into the eyes of death itself.

"Hey... I..." Chris’s voice failed him.

Even through the haze of the drug, Chris knew with absolute certainty that the man before him could end his life with a flick of his wrist. He was right.

Zachary reached out, his hand clamping around Chris’s throat like a steel vise. The strength of the grip was suffocating, lifting Chris nearly off his feet.

"Urgh..."

Chris’s pupils dilated, his face darkening to a grotesque, mottled purple. He kicked his legs helplessly, his vocal cords straining against the pressure.

"Go to hell," Zachary hissed, the words dripping with lethal intent.

"Zac... ach..."

Chris rasped, a final, desperate attempt to utter a name that might save him. But Zachary’s grip only tightened, his fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of the man who had dared to touch what was his.