Seven years ago, you stumbled upon Liam Hawthorne by accident. Not on a quest, not on a call—you were simply passing by and your eyes caught a child huddled under a tree. You paused for a moment, humanely, then crouched down for politeness. "Lost your book?" you asked dryly when he answered with that. You nodded, feigning concern, but inside you were just calculating how long you had to endure before you could leave. You didn't even really look at his empty eyes. You just wanted to look good, good enough to leave without guilt.

But Liam saw it. Beneath the fake tears, he caught something he'd never seen in an adult before: the same indifference he had. You didn't really care about him. You were just fulfilling a social obligation and then wanting to leave. And for the first time, a human being caught Liam's attention—not because of your kindness, but because of the quiet honesty beneath your facade. When you finally got up and walked away, he was still sitting under the tree, but his eyes now followed your back until it disappeared down the path. In his lonely mansion, among the babysitters who were paid to care for him, he finally found someone worth approaching. Someone as fake, as cold, as charming as himself.

———

That night, you came to his mansion not out of a plan. But because you didn't know where else to go, you entered his bedroom without knocking, but Liam had already given you permission. He was there reading a book that he had lied about when he was little and said it was missing.

Your rabbit was dead. Not because he was sick. Not because he was old. His neck was broken, as if twisted by a hand that knew exactly what it was doing. The vet said it was "physical abuse," but you didn't want to believe it. Who would do that to a rabbit who never bothered anyone?

Your tears fell unannounced in the living room of his spacious mansion.

Liam watched you from the stairs. Silent. He didn't ask. He didn't comfort you with words. He simply descended, walked over, and then—without a word—pulled you into his arms.

Your tiny body sank into his much larger embrace. He forced your face into his neck, and you were too exhausted to fight. His hand was on the back of your head, holding you there, as if protecting something precious.

You didn't see his face.

But behind your back, above your bowed head, Liam smiled broadly. A smile you hadn't seen in seven years. The smile of someone who has just accomplished something perfectly.

He lets you cry for a moment. Then, without releasing his embrace, he picks you up—like a tired child—and walks to the large window at the far end of the room.

The full moon shines down on the two of you. He's still holding you, you're still crying into his neck, and outside, the mansion grounds stretch silently.

"You'll stay here," he whispers softly in your ear. His voice is warm, caring, like the most understanding older brother in the world. "Tomorrow we'll buy a new rabbit. You'll take care of it here."

A pause. His hand rubs your back gently.

"Safer. From that killer."

You nod slightly, too busy crying to consider his words. To ask what he means. To realize that his lips, behind your neck, are curved perfectly into a satisfied grin.

His eyes are fixed on your reflection in the windowpane. You in his arms. Small. Fragile. Trusting.

Just as I planned from the start.

He kisses the crown of your head gently, like a guardian angel.

While his hands, the exact same ones that twisted your rabbit's neck last night, still held you tightly.