Sebastian

Blood trickled down his lips, each drop carrying the weight of silent suffering, and behind the defiance in his gaze I caught the unmistakable flicker of desperation.

"Now tell me—when? Why? And how long has this been going on behind my back?" My voice was cold, deliberate, a sharp demand that left no room for delay. He shifted uneasily, his uncertainty plain, before lowering his head once more.

"I… I didn’t know, Master," he stammered, the words almost breaking off. "But the first time she came here, and you asked me to show her the cottage… I—I fell for her at first sight. My chest tightened, my heart almost refused to beat. And the next day, when I took her to the hospital—" He faltered, eyes fixed on the ground as though it anchored him. "She was moaning in pain… and I swear it felt as if someone was clawing at my heart, squeezing it until I could hardly breathe."

His voice wavered, shoulders tense, but when he finally lifted his gaze back to me, his eyes were hollow, as though pulled into a memory no longer his to control. I said nothing, deliberately granting him silence and time to bare his truth.

"I did not blame you, Master," he whispered after a pause, fragile as glass. "But I couldn’t bear seeing her suffer. That first day, I pitied her. I don’t know when that pity cracked, when it shifted into something else…" He swallowed, trembling slightly. "But slowly, without me knowing, it became love."

Weakness. The word seared through me like a blade. I had raised them better. I had drilled strength, control, and resolve into their bones. And yet here he was—fragile, buckling beneath emotions I had told them to bury.

"And I assume," I said with cutting sharpness while reaching for the wine goblet, "you understand why she needed to be admitted to the hospital? Had she told me she was a virgin beforehand, perhaps I would have been more cautious."

I wanted to provoke disgust, to spark anger in his eyes, to see if he still had fire left. But to my surprise, anger was absent. His gaze was steady, calm, unnervingly so—yet I still sensed the storm within him, barely subdued.

His hand clenched and uncurled into fists, again and again, sinews straining as he blinked steadily—each breath rehearsed restraint.

"I don’t blame her. And I don’t blame you, Master," he said softly, but his tone carried an undertow of conviction. "It was her duty. And I know you… you needed someone to carry your demons. But to me, she will always be pure—as untouched as a newborn child."

His composure was more infuriating than his confession.

"And even if she is nothing but a prostitute?" I pressed, every syllable sharp as I sipped my wine, daring him to falter.

"Yes, Master," he answered, stumbling once on the word before finding his strength again. "Even then. Because she did not choose this life—any more than we chose ours. She is merely surviving. Just like you. Just like me."

The words pierced me. Pierced in exactly the places I hid deepest. He was not wrong. None of us were living here. We were breathing, eating, obeying, surviving. This life had not offered us freedom—but it forced us to cling to the present moment, never daring to expect, never daring to dream.

I broke the silence with action instead. Opening the second drawer of my desk, I retrieved a brown envelope and tossed it across the floor in his direction. It landed before him with a hollow snap.

His movements slowed as he picked it up, tore the seal, and unfolded the papers. His eyes widened as he scanned the contents, confusion rippling across his face as his lips trembled with unspoken questions.

"Kill her," I declared flatly. "She has chosen her path, Alexis. Tomorrow I attend a banquet, and by the time I return, I expect to attend her funeral."

I leaned back, letting the words settle into the air like smoke. "You know well we cannot afford flaws. It is always safer—cleaner—to eliminate weakness before it festers. Spend time with her, if you wish. But tell me, Alexis… can you do this? Because I cannot assign this task to anyone else. You alone know what must follow after she is gone."

A cruel stillness fell between us. He bowed his head, silent, each second dragging like minutes. At last he breathed, "I will do it, Master." His voice cracked, hollow, as he rose slowly, envelope gripped tight in his hand.

He twisted the doorknob, ready to leave, when suddenly he stilled. Turning back toward me, he looked like a man carrying the weight of both loyalty and sorrow.

"May I speak, Master?" His voice was faint, cracking along the edges.

"Yes," I said simply, ready—almost expecting—the curses he might throw at me.

But instead, what came was worse.

"I wish… I hope you find someone who will melt your cold heart, Master. Someone who will make you feel your heartbeat again. I hope one day you smile the way you once did. More than anything, I pray someone will bring you alive once more."

The words were not defiance. They were not rebellion. They were a wish. And it was that very gentleness that cursed me most.

Because I did not want to feel alive again. I did not want to feel my pulse racing. I had no need to be reminded that they were buried beneath the earth while I lingered in luxury. His blessing was a curse. His words struck deep and left wounds no blade could rival.

"Are you not curious how I discovered your secret, Alexis?" I asked, cruel amusement curling through my voice. A grin crept across me as the venom spilled: "Because she moaned your name once—when I was inside her. Hah."

Rage shattered his composure instantly. His fist lashed forward, wild with fury, and came within inches of my face.

But I did not move. Did not flinch. I sat perfectly still, unbothered. His heavy breathing filled the room as he realized the truth: I wasn’t defending myself at all.

Slowly, painfully, he lowered his hand.

"I know, Master," he whispered through ragged breaths. "I have known for some time. She confessed that night—and I noticed you never summoned her again afterward. It has been three months now. And I know… I know you care more for us than you dare to admit." His pause was long, his tone softer. "So I ask only this—why now?"

At last, the secret was revealed. She had confessed, and he had remained silent. Interesting.

"Because of the items in your possession, Alexis," I explained smoothly, draining my goblet in one tilt. "It is a tedious and time-consuming process. Congratulations—consider them a gift. Now, as always, follow my instruction."

He exhaled deeply, eyes lowering before he composed himself again. "Yes, Master. I will send Rosalie to you." A faint smile touched his lips, relief shading his words.

"I do not need her—or anyone," I said with disinterest.

"I know your needs better than you admit, Master," he replied softly, bowing one final time. "Thank you. And good night."

The door closed behind him with a muted thud, leaving me alone once more—with nothing but silence, shadows, snd my demons for company.

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