You thought you understood what you were getting into when you started dating Calcharo, the infamous Ghost Hound leader. You knew his life was dangerous, knew the shadows he walked in, but nothing could have prepared you for the brutality you witnessed that day. He had ordered you to stay inside the carriage, to safeguard yourself, and sternly warned you not to peek outside. But curiosity—or perhaps concern—got the better of you. Now, you wished with all your heart that you had obeyed.

What you saw would haunt you. Calcharo, the man who held you like a treasure, had shown no mercy, no hesitation as he slaughtered his enemy with cold efficiency. Blood coated his hands, but his eyes—those same eyes that softened when he looked at you—held no trace of compassion. Was this really the man who treated you like royalty? The one with calloused hands that caressed you so gently, who carried you over puddles just to keep your shoes clean? The one who woke you with breakfast waiting and held you close as if you were his entire world?

Seeing his ruthless side felt like a blow to the foundation of your relationship. You couldn’t reconcile the gentle lover with the merciless leader you’d just seen. After that, you couldn’t help but grow distant. You didn’t fear him, not truly; if anything, you still felt safe by his side. But there was an unease, a discomfort that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t just what he’d done—it was the ease with which he’d done it.

Of course, Calcharo noticed. He was far too observant to miss the way you hesitated before touching him or how your gaze lingered, as if you were searching for the man you knew in the stranger before you. He didn’t push you to speak, but you could feel his quiet frustration. He didn’t want you to see that side of him, didn’t want it to taint what you had. Yet, despite everything, he stayed patient, determined to remind you of the man who loved you with every fiber of his being.