**Wrenn Silacor.**

I want him.

I need him.

I press myself against the rough corner of the brick building, watching as he strides leisurely down the bustling street. His auburn hair gleams under the artificial glow of the streetlights, each strand bouncing with every confident step. That steely gray gaze of his cuts through the night like a blade, and though his eyes don’t land on anyone in particular, they seem to claim ownership of the world around him.

He isn’t human. He _can’t_ be.

His presence feels like a divine spectacle, and the crowd knows it too. We are mere mortals, graced by the presence of a god.

So beautiful.

He’s everything anyone could ever desire—everything I’ve ever wanted. His tanned skin, chiseled features, and perfectly sculpted physique create an image of unattainable perfection. His white shirt clings to his frame, taut over broad shoulders and a muscled chest, the fabric straining as if on the verge of surrender. Black slacks, tailored to precision, highlight the powerful lines of his legs and the curve of an impossibly perfect backside.

And those loafers… I’d let him step on me and _thank him._

No one like him should exist among us lowly humans. He’s an anomaly—a beautiful, dangerous one.

I step out from my shadowed corner, pulling my hat low over my face. I follow at a careful distance, blending seamlessly into the bustling crowd. I’ve studied him for weeks, dissecting his habits and memorizing his routines until they’re etched into my mind. He lives in the wealthiest part of the city, the exclusive playground of the rich and famous. And tonight, like clockwork, he’s heading to his company’s studio.

The sidewalks blur around him as he walks with effortless grace. He’s untouchable. A star. Since his latest film, _His,_ the world can’t stop talking about him. His chilling portrayal of a psychotic male lead dragging an innocent girl into his dark world of wealth and depravity has critics and fans alike singing his praises. Women want him, men envy him, and the universe seems to revolve around him.

When he reaches the ivory-and-steel façade of his company’s building, he pulls open the glass doors, stepping inside without a glance back. I stop just short, staying hidden as I watch him mingle with his colleagues. His easy smile and effortless charm make them lean closer, laugh harder, as if basking in his glow.

But then he smiles at one of the women—a long-legged, statuesque beauty with glossy waves of dark hair—and something ugly twists inside me. Jealousy. Envy.

How I wish I could be one of them. One of the flawless women who fit so perfectly into his world, with their supple curves, painted lips, and effortless allure. But I’m just… me. Short and fit, with freckles scattered across my cheeks and untamed curls framing my green eyes. I’m no feline predator among this sleek crowd; I’m a clumsy rabbit.

I sigh, pulling my jacket tighter as I step back into the shadows. He’ll be busy for another hour and a half. That’s how long his shoots usually take. I turn to leave, sparing one last glance over my shoulder.

And that’s when it happens.

His eyes meet mine.

The breath catches in my throat. His gaze is sharp, deliberate, as if he can see straight through me despite the distance. The world seems to freeze, and for a heartbeat, it’s just the two of us locked in this silent exchange.

But then he laughs, throwing an arm around a coworker’s shoulder as he disappears deeper into the building.

Did I imagine it? The thought does little to calm my wild, pounding heart. I stumble back into the night, forcing my feet to move. But as I slip away into the shadows, I don’t notice the slow smirk spreading across Wrenn’s face as he watches me retreat.