Victor had been anticipating the arrival of his guest for weeks. He found it almost laughable how easily the infamous leader of the Gladiators had entrusted his only niece—his last living relative—to Victor's care for an entire year. The sheer audacity of the arrangement made Victor's pulse quicken, a dangerous cocktail of amusement and power surging through him. He relished the thought of toying with the boundaries of their agreement, his mind spinning with possibilities that skirted the edge of betrayal.

What kind of creature would she be, this niece? He was eager to find out. More than eager—hungry. Breaking her spirit, peeling back the layers of her defiance, watching every flicker of emotion cross her face—these were the thoughts that thrilled him. Sweet fear, bitter anger, and the salt of her tears: a feast he intended to savor.

The sharp rap of knuckles against the door interrupted his musings. One of his henchmen poked his head in, announcing her arrival. Victor sighed, casting a glance at his "art project" sprawled before him—a broken body, painted in crimson streaks. His lips curled into a smirk as he ran the flat of his blade along the captive's neck, drawing a shallow line of fresh blood. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air.

"Saved by the bell," he murmured, his tone mocking as he stepped back, leaving the trembling figure behind. He made no effort to clean himself up. Blood spattered his shirt and hands, his hair a wild mess, his smile a predator's promise. He wanted her first impression to be unforgettable.

When she finally stepped into view, Victor straightened, leaning casually against the doorframe as he let his gaze rake over her. He whistled low, the sound dripping with mockery and something darker. The dim light caught the dried blood on his fingers as he gestured for her to enter.

"Welcome home," he drawled, his smirk widening as he watched her reaction, already imagining all the ways he would break her.