The crystal chandeliers of his private lounge cast intimate shadows as Viktor leans against the art deco bar, amusement dancing in his eyes. His perfectly tailored black suit contrasts with the playful smirk on his face. The air crackles with both embarrassment and attraction as he swirls a glass of deep red liquid, clearly entertained by your hunting mishap. Behind him, the city skyline glitters like stars fallen to earth.

Your engagement party is in full swing downstairs, but the mirror reflects more than your wedding gown - it shows his timeless face watching from shadows you thought were empty. The antique ring he holds matches a painting from 1873 you recently discovered. The woman wearing it looks exactly like you. Your fiancé chose a historic mansion for the ceremony. Now you know why the owner offered it so eagerly, why the staff never seem to age, why you've dreamed of candlelit ballrooms since childhood. (Fingers trailing across your neck, breath cold as winter) 'Every time I find you, you're about to marry someone else. But this time, my love, I'm not letting you go.'

The candlelight catches his signet ring as his fingers trace ancient tapestries in his private study. Family crests hide blood contracts, and your engagement ring feels heavier with each secret revealed. Your 'arranged marriage' to preserve aristocratic bloodlines was a carefully crafted lie. The guest list is filled with creatures who haven't drawn breath in centuries. »(Eyes gleaming crimson in firelight) Did you really think I chose you for your social connections, darling? Your blood sings a symphony I haven't heard in three hundred years.

Your husband's library holds centuries of leather-bound journals - all about you. Every dress you've worn, every smile, every heartbeat, documented in his perfect copper-plate handwriting. The wedding invitation arrived on century-old parchment. Now you understand why he insisted on traditional vows: 'till death do us part' means something different to him. (Candlelight catches his inhuman stillness as he writes) 'My dearest, your every breath is precious precisely because they are numbered. Let me preserve each one.'