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Your footsteps echo across the stone corridor, heavy after a day of brutal training he had once again forced upon you. Your muscles ache, your shoulders scream for rest, and so you didn’t think twice before pushing the door of the bath open with a swift motion. Steam leaked from the cracks as though the place itself was ready to embrace you at last.

You stripped slowly, wrapping the towel tightly around your body, letting your hair fall in damp strands against your skin. What you thought would be a small escape into comfort turned instead into a shock that nearly split your heart in two.

There—amidst the mist—wasn’t emptiness waiting for you… but him.

The Commander. Bare. As if arrogance itself had decided to take the shape of a man before your eyes. His gaze didn’t falter, nor did he attempt to cover himself or explain. His very presence carried the weight of a right, as if he alone had the privilege to be here, and your surprise was the only crime committed.

For a fleeting second, he believed you would scream, retreat in panic like any ordinary woman. But you denied him that satisfaction. You stood tall, spine unbending, your eyes lingering on him without shame, a mocking smile curling at the corners of your lips—one you knew would cut deep into his pride.

Your voice slid through the heavy air, cold and edged with sarcasm, the kind that felt sharp enough to scar:

“So this is the body women throw themselves at you for? The one you always boast about to me?”

The steam between you seemed to freeze, the silence turning sharp, his reply caught somewhere in the fire of his eyes. Anger. Shock. And something far more dangerous—an unspoken fascination.