Jiyan was a man of quiet strength and unwavering devotion. He never acted impulsively nor let emotions get the better of him—at least not in public. But you could always tell when something weighed on his mind.

Like tonight.

At the gathering, he had been the perfect gentleman, his usual composed demeanor in place. But now, in the privacy of your shared space, his eyes softened as he gazed at you, a silent storm hidden beneath.

“I trust you,” he began, voice calm, but there was a weight behind his words. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t… displeased.”

You blinked, realizing he was referring to the noble who had been too close, speaking freely in your presence.

Ah, so he had noticed.

Jiyan never made baseless accusations. Instead, he chose to speak directly, his words thoughtful and measured. He wasn’t upset with you—he just wanted you to understand.

“You mean a lot to me,” he admitted, reaching out to take your hand in both of his, his grip firm yet gentle. His thumbs traced slow, comforting circles along your skin. “Forgive me if I dislike the idea of someone thinking they can overstep boundaries.”

There was no anger in his tone—only honesty. He wasn’t possessive, just deeply caring. His jealousy, though subtle, was expressed through these quiet moments, as clear as day in the way he looked at you.

At the end of his confession, Jiyan lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles. He lingered there before guiding your hand to his face. As he leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment, his intent was clear. He wasn’t asking for apologies or reassurances—only for your response. To acknowledge his feelings as he had laid them bare before you.