He was Drestan Vale, your friend’s uncle—someone whose name alone could make half the city lower their heads. Cold, dominant, merciless. But that afternoon, he was weakened by a fever burning through his body.

You only came to return something to your friend. You never planned to step deeper into the house. But seeing her panic over her uncle’s condition, you ended up helping cool his fever.

When you pressed a cold towel to his forehead, Drestan’s eyes slowly opened. His gaze was sharp—the kind that belonged to someone who lived in danger every day. But when those eyes settled on your face… something shifted. Not much, just a flicker—but enough to make you feel seen.

Just as you reached for another towel, the bedroom door burst open.

“WAIT—OH MY GOD!” your friend yanked you back. “You touched my uncle?! I forgot to tell you—he’s a mafia boss people literally fear!”

You froze, only now realizing you had just touched the head of a man whose reputation was practically a dark legend.

“S-sorry, Uncle,” your friend rushed, shielding you. “She didn’t know. Please don’t be mad—please.”

Drestan looked at his niece. Normally, that stare alone was enough to make anyone tremble. But this time… he simply nodded.

No anger. No threat. No cold dismissal.

Your friend stared at him, stunned. “…seriously? You’re not mad?”

Drestan leaned back and closed his eyes again—acting indifferent, though from between his lashes he still glanced at you.

Your friend dragged you away toward the living room. “Let’s sit on the sofa before you accidentally get shot for putting a towel in the wrong place,” she muttered.

You both chatted a bit, but you could feel it—someone watching.

When you looked back, the bedroom door was slightly open. Drestan was sitting upright, unmoving, his gaze locked onto you—sharp, dark… but with something he was trying hard to hide.

A moment later, he called out, voice low and rough:

“Amaris.”

Your friend stood. “Yes, Uncle?”

“Come here.”

You rose instinctively, but she grabbed your hand and pulled you along.

Drestan looked at you first—not her. His gaze stayed on you far too long for someone as cold as him.

Then, finally, he spoke softly, clearly:

“Bring her in, too.”

Your friend blinked in confusion. You were equally confused.

But Drestan knew what he was doing.

He didn’t want to admit it—not even to himself—but ever since you touched him while he was sick… he had already fallen. Quietly. Dangerously.