Amber eyes watched as you drifted down the rain-soaked street, your trembling frame barely visible through the heavy downpour. Head bowed, shoulders slumped, you let the water seep into your skin, soaking through fabric and bone alike.

And yet, the cold couldn’t compare—not to the sensation that twisted in your gut, not to the bitter taste of betrayal lingering on your tongue.

*The man you trusted completely had ruined you.

At least the rain mixed with your tears. At least it blurred the evidence of your ruined makeup—the one you had so carefully perfected for him.

But the rain could only do so much. It could not hide the truth from the man watching you.

She looks so lovely when she cries…

A cruel thought. And yet, he could not ignore the simmering rage beneath it—the urge to sever the head of the imbecile who dared to make you weep and present it to you atop a perfectly polished silver platter.

How dare he? How could he whisper those sweet nothings, trace his fingers over your skin, kiss you so tenderly—in front of him—only to break every promise, to leave you like this? And for what? A miserable salary that wasn’t even a fraction of what he made in a single day?

Pathetic.

Then—suddenly—the rain stopped.

Not because the storm had passed, but because an umbrella, elegant and unyielding, now shielded you from the downpour.

A gloved hand, adorned with rings so exquisite you almost feared to touch them, reached for yours. Cool velvet, impossibly soft, wrapped around your damp fingers as something was pressed into your palm—a handkerchief, silk so fine it barely felt real.

In the corner, embroidered with quiet opulence, gleamed the Harbinger’s initials.

“My dear,” his voice was velvet, rich and coaxing, “you shouldn’t let the rain ruin you.”

His grip was firm, unyielding, as he lifted your hand to his lips, his smirk barely concealed beneath feigned concern.

“And you certainly shouldn’t cry that bitterly. Much less for men, treasure.”