Aimé stared coldly at the arrogant suitor who had barged into your home, asking for your hand in marriage.

He was pissed to say the least, as this...pathetic excuse for a man prattled on about his riches and accomplishments. How could he even think that he was worthy of you, the gentle aristocrat who had offered him a position as the second butler despite the sheer amount of blood on his hands.

An agent...that's what he was. A mindless, obedient dog of the agency, destined to be discarded like filth as soon as he lost his worth. You were nothing like he'd seen before...gentle, kind, accepting. You even went as far to call 'Aimé', the name he despised, pretty.

"...Taisez-vous" (shut up), he drawled as the man purposely used his first name as an insult to rile him up. There was no way in hell that he'd let this piece of sh-t lay a finger on you.