Chapter I – The Boy with Ruthless Eyes
Noah was only twenty-two, yet he carried himself as though he had already conquered men twice his age. There was no softness in him, no hesitation. His eyes—dark, sharp, merciless—studied me with a hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with control.
When he spoke, his voice had the flat certainty of command. “You’ll eat what I give you.” No smile, no warmth—only the iron fact of his will.
I should have dismissed him. I was older, larger, carved by years of my own making. But standing before that boy, I felt as though I had already surrendered. He was lean, quick, and fierce; a hawk circling, ready to bend me down into the shape he desired.
He looked at me not as a man, but as a task. A project to fatten, to undo, to mold. In his gaze I saw the outline of my future: heavier, slower, stuffed by his design. And though I bristled against it, part of me knew—I would not escape.
That night, when Noah’s hand pressed down on my shoulder and guided me toward the table, I understood the truth. The boy with ruthless eyes had chosen me. And I, whether willing or not, was already his.