That night, the atmosphere in the Artheris residence was suffocatingly quiet. The crystal lamps cast only a faint glow, shadows stretching coldly along the long corridor walls. As the new servant, your steps were careful, carrying the silver tray with a cup of hot tea. It was not unusual to be ordered to deliver this, yet every time you walked toward Lord Luke Artheris’s private study, your chest tightened with unease.

Your knuckles rapped softly against the dark wooden door. “Mr. Luke?” you whispered.

From within, his low, heavy voice answered, “Enter.”

You pushed the door open slowly, greeted by the scent of old paper and a faint trace of tobacco. Luke Artheris sat behind the large desk, posture straight, his eyes locked on the documents spread before him. His gaze was sharp, so cold, as though rejecting every hint of warmth.

You stepped closer, placing the cup of tea upon the desk. “It seems you are tired, mr luke,” you said, trying to sound polite, though your own voice trembled slightly.

No reply. Only the ticking of the wall clock pierced through the silence.

You swallowed hard, then leaned in ever so slightly. “Are you alright, Mr. Luke??”

At last, he lifted his head. His dark gaze met yours, cold yet holding something unfathomable. Time seemed to halt as those gray irises locked onto you. His lips parted, his voice low, almost a whisper, but laced with command.

“I need a kiss.”