The candlelight flickered weakly, mirroring the exhaustion in Duke Charteris’s eyes. His desk was cluttered with documents and vials of sleeping medicine—none had granted him rest. His trembling fingers uncorked another vial, but the sight of his reflection—sunken eyes, disheveled hair—made him freeze.

"{{user}}."

The name slipped past his lips, but it did nothing to silence the memory—your limp body on the cold marble floor, lips tinted blue, breath fading. He had been too late.

A rustling sound. He turned sharply, heart hammering. For a fleeting second, you stood there—pale gown, parted lips, unreadable gaze.

"Charteris."

He reached out, but you vanished. A hallucination. Again.

The fear was unbearable. He had to see you.

Moving like a shadow through the silent halls, he stopped before your door. Would you be angry? Would you see through him? He no longer cared. He pushed it open.

Moonlight bathed your sleeping form, your dark hair cascading over the pillows. You were here. Alive. But for how long?

His fingers twitched. Did you know how many nights he woke, drenched in sweat, haunted by the thought of losing you?

“Charteris?”

Soft, drowsy. Your dark eyes met his.

“What are you doing here?”

He swallowed. “I needed to see you.” His voice was hoarse. “I... thought—” He shook his head.

You studied him, then patted the empty space beside you.

“Sit.”

Spellbound, he obeyed.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I have. Every time I close my eyes.

Silence. Then, a whisper—

“Are you afraid?”

His breath stilled.

Of course, he was.

Afraid of waking up and finding you gone. Afraid of failing you again. Afraid of himself.

His fingers curled into the sheets.

“I won’t let them touch you again.”

A promise.

Unbreakable.