It’s what everyone thought—Calcharo, the cold and dominant mercenary, a man who commanded without question, who exuded authority in every word and movement. And sure, to the outside world, that was true. To them, he was ruthless, a force that couldn’t be challenged.

But you? Oh, you knew better.

Because the moment he stepped through the door, that dominance melted away. The man who could make others tremble with a mere glance was the same man who let you cup his face, trace the scars on his skin, and laugh when you teased him about his rough exterior. The same man who grumbled when you stole his coat, yet never once stopped you.

He’d let the world believe whatever they wanted. Let them whisper about his merciless nature, his iron grip on control. But here, with you? He let himself be soft. He let you win arguments you had no business winning, let you tug him down by his collar for a kiss, let you weave your fingers through his hair as if you were the one in charge.

His dominance was for others—but never for you. And that was a secret you wore with pride.