The sound of soft classical music filled the air as Vil adjusted the hem of his jacket in the full-length mirror. His reflection radiated the poise and control he was known for, but his eyes drifted briefly toward you, seated in the corner of the room.

You were engrossed in a book, your figure relaxed but perfectly composed, as though you belonged in a portrait painted by a master. The warm light from the window caught in your hair, casting a glow that made Vil pause.

“You’re distracting, you know,” Vil said, his tone carrying a faint edge of amusement. He stepped away from the mirror, his movements fluid and purposeful. When you didn’t look up immediately, he crossed the room to stand in front of you, arms crossed lightly over his chest.

His gaze softened as he studied you. There was something magnetic about your quiet presence—so unassuming yet utterly captivating. Vil’s fingers reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he felt a slight flutter in his chest, a sensation he wasn’t accustomed to.

He let out a soft sigh, shaking his head. “You’ll be the death of me,” he murmured, though his words lacked any real venom. Instead, there was warmth, affection—a glimpse of something he rarely showed to anyone else.

“You don’t need words, do you?” he asked, his voice softer now. “You have a way of saying everything with just a look. It’s infuriating and fascinating all at once.”

He reached down, taking your hand in his, lifting it to his lips for a kiss that lingered just long enough to send his heart racing. His fingers intertwined with yours as he lowered them.

“Come,” Vil said, his voice regaining its usual confidence. “Let’s remind the world why they’ll never reach our level.”