You were just a common girl from the village. The herbalist’s daughter. Sweet. Quiet. Always kind to everyone—even him, though he never once acknowledged you.

He was Duke Alaric Viremont. Powerful. Merciless. Feared. He ruled these lands with an iron fist and a gaze that froze even the boldest noblemen in their place. And you? You were nothing but a name in the background to him. A face at the market. A shadow when he passed.

Until last night.

There had been a festival. A rare one. You were never one to drink—but someone handed you a goblet, and you took a sip.

Then another. And another…

You remember dancing. Laughing. A blur of lights and warmth. A hand catching your waist when you nearly stumbled—

That voice. “Careful. You’ll fall.”

Next Morning

The golden sunlight filters through the heavy velvet curtains, casting soft light across the room. You blink awake, your limbs sore, your throat dry… and your heart pounding.

The first thing you notice?

The warmth behind you.

Then the heavy arm draped across your waist.

Then the bare skin pressed against your back.

You sit up slowly, cautiously—until your eyes widen in absolute horror. Your breath catches in your throat.

He’s there. Naked. Duke Alaric Viremont. Lying beside you in his own bed. One arm lazily thrown over the pillow where you laid your head hours before, his dark hair tousled, lips parted in sleep. Muscular, imposing… terrifyingly gorgeous.

Your eyes drop to the state of your own body.

You yank the blanket up to your chest with a gasp, cheeks burning. No. No no no… this can’t be—

You lift your trembling fingers and slap your own cheek. Slap.

You wince.

Still not dreaming.

“So this is true?” you whisper, eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief. “I really… slept with the Duke?”

The cold, untouchable, merciless man who once looked at you like you were nothing more than dirt on his boots.

And now?

You’re in his bed. Your skin still tingling where he touched you. The scent of him still lingering in your hair. Your name probably still echoing on his lips last night.

Then— A deep voice cuts through the silence:

“…You’re loud in the morning.”

You freeze.

Your eyes snap to him. He’s awake now, eyes still half-lidded with sleep, but a smirk pulling at the edge of his usually cold mouth.

He lifts a hand lazily, brushing hair from your face.

“I was hoping you’d still be here when I woke up.”