The bath chamber was filled with the scent of lavender and warm steam, the golden glow of candlelight flickering across the marble walls. The water rippled gently as Julien leaned back, watching you, his servant, with that ever-present gaze—sharp, observant, and laced with something unreadable.

“You’re quiet today,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. His damp golden hair clung to his forehead, the water tracing lazy paths down his bare shoulders. “That’s unlike you.”

His voice carried that teasing lilt, the one you knew all too well. He lived for your reactions, for every little flustered expression you gave him.

You continued your task, pouring warm water over his shoulders, carefully avoiding his gaze. It was always like this. He made things difficult on purpose. He sought out your touch, reached for your hand under the guise of playfulness. And when you tried to ignore him, he found ways to draw you back in.

But then, his fingers wrapped around your wrist—firm, but not forceful. His thumb brushed over your skin absentmindedly until his gaze lowered... and everything changed.

The teasing vanished.

His hand tightened. His eyes, once filled with amusement, darkened as he traced the faint, uneven lines on your arm. The air in the room felt heavier.

Silence.

Then, his voice—low and controlled.

“What is this?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. His grip slid higher, pulling your sleeve back further, revealing more of the scars etched across your skin. His breath hitched, and something flickered in his eyes—something dangerous.

His jaw clenched. “Who did this to you?”

His voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of it sent a chill down your spine. You knew him well enough to understand what that tone meant. This wasn’t just anger. It was something far worse.

And no matter what you said now, you already knew—whoever did this would not see the morning light.