I awoke to the cool, sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft hum of machinery. My eyelids felt heavy, my body leaden. I tried to move, but a dull ache pulsed through my limbs.

I felt like shit. Like I was hit by a truck. My head throbbed, my mouth was dry, and a wave of nausea rolled over me.

I glanced around and saw Levi, his long frame in an awkward position, not fitting the uncomfortable chair. “Hey…” I mumbled, my voice raspy. He heard me and stood up, his movements swift and controlled, coming closer to the bed to press a button on the wall panel. Button?

“Please rest, Raphael. I called a doctor,” he said.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice weak, my head throbbing.

He glared at me, his eyes cold and hard. “You didn’t drink the antidote.”

“What? Oh… The hell spawn concoction. Shit, I got poisoned?” I exclaimed, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.

“Yes, Raphael. You…” he paused, his jaw tightening. “Let us wait for the doctor.”

He was obviously angry and maybe concerned? We waited for the doctor.

The doctor came and he checked the monitors, his brow furrowed slightly, and then glanced at my chart, his expression remaining neutral. “How are you feeling, Mr. Blake?” he asked.

“Like I got hit by a truck,” I replied, voice still raspy and weak.

“Mr. Blake, you were drugged with a strong hallucinatory compound. We were able to flush it out of your system, but it is possible for you to have other reactions for another day: dizziness, nausea, mood swings. It is rare, but panic attacks are also a possibility. The easiest way to recover is resting.”

“Hallucinatory compound? Why?” I asked.

“I cannot know or tell, since it is out of the boundaries of my job,” the doctor replied, his gaze shifting uncomfortably. “But, given your reaction to the drugs, I advise you to stay away from hallucinogens for the rest of your life.”

“Sure…” I never liked drugs anyway. “How long was I out?”

“Two days, Mr. Blake.”

Shit. Two days. That’s why I was so thirsty, so weak.

I looked at Levi, his expression still unreadable, his eyes cold and hard. “Two days?” I repeated. “Two days I was out of it? What happened in two days?”

Levi gestured to the doctor to leave, and he did, his expression tight and professional. Levi then leaned closer to my face, his eyes boring into mine.

“I brewed that antidote myself,” he said, his voice low and intense. “I instructed you to drink it because I knew the nobles would pull a trick. I even instructed Annie to make you drink it. But you didn’t. Why?”

“I don’t know. It was dark and looked disgusting,” I mumbled, my voice weak and defensive.

“That’s it? Just because it didn’t taste nice, you…” He stopped abruptly, his jaw tightening, his eyes flashing with a cold fury. He stood up immediately and took a deep, deliberate breath to restrain his anger.

“Please be rested, Raphael,” he said. “I will see you at home. Get well.”

He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the sterile silence of the room. He didn’t look back. He didn’t offer any explanation. He simply left, leaving me alone with my pounding head, my churning stomach, and the chilling realization that I had almost died because I didn’t like the color of his medicine.

His anger, though restrained, was justified. Not just because I had disobeyed him, but because I had jeopardized myself. He had anticipated this attack, prepared for it. And my foolishness took it away.

The weight of my mistake settled heavily on me, a crushing sense of guilt and fear. I shattered his trust.

I closed my eyes to rest a little longer, trying not to think about it.

I was discharged in the evening. Annie arrived, her usually calm demeanor subdued, her eyes filled with a quiet concern.

She helped me into the waiting car, her touch gentle but firm. The ride home was silent.

At home, Annie apologized to me for being unable to protect me. It was nobody’s fault.

I lied to myself by saying that.

As I was watching the white ceiling in my room, the anxiety was creeping up on me. I lied to myself again by saying this is just the withdrawal from drugs.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the thoughts, but the anxiety only intensified. I was alone, vulnerable, and at Levi's mercy. And I had no idea what he was planning, what he wanted, or what the consequences of my actions would be.

After a while, Levi came to the house. I had no energy to greet him or leave the bed. I listened to his movements. At first he went to his bedroom, possibly to change clothes as he hated the outside smell. Then to his locked room, that daunting beeping and locking sound.

Lastly, he came to my room and softly knocked on the door.

“Are you awake, Raphael?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, but with an underlying tension that made my heart pound.

“Y-Yes,” I stammered like an idiot. Like I was going to hear scolding from a parent. He entered inside, gently closed the door and scanned the room first. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Shitty,” I replied to deflect some of my fear with sarcasm. Usual.

He took a deep breath to restrain himself. “I am sorry that you feel unwell. But, please also remember that I am not someone who brews antidotes for fun. You are very lucky it was just a hallucinogen.”

“Yeah, about that. Why a hallucinogen?” I tried to shift the conversation to another direction.

“It is not easy to find an undetectable or untraceable lethal poison. I assume they were trying to make you act in an untoward manner at the party, in front of my donors, acquaintances, nobles,” he replied with a flat voice.

“They wanted me to… embarrass myself,” I said, the words heavy with a dawning understanding.

“It is a likely scenario,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “But, for some reason, your body reacted to the drug rather strongly.”

“No joke, I was out for two days,” I muttered, still trying to process the implications.

“Yes. Do you have any side effects?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied, my voice weak. “I just feel tired and… anxious.”

“You will feel better tomorrow,” he said, his voice firm, brooking no argument. “Please let me know immediately if you experience any other reactions. Also…” he paused for a moment, his gaze intense, “please remember your position, and what happened today. I will not remain silent in the face of this open declaration,” he continued, his voice low and dangerous. “I will be leaving the house for some engagements. Annie will accompany you during my absence.”

With that, he turned and walked towards the door, his movements swift and decisive. He didn’t offer any further explanation, any words of comfort. He simply left.

...

True to his word, Levi was gone when I woke up the next morning.

Annie came into my room with a tray laden with food. There was a light, easily digestible breakfast – scrambled eggs, soft toast, and a bowl of fruit. Along with it was a steaming mug filled with a murky, herbal-smelling liquid.

“Good morning, sir,” she said, her voice gentle, a hint of her usual cheerfulness returning. “Mr. Blake asked me to make sure you eat something and drink this.” She gestured to the mug. “It’s a medicinal tea for strength.”

I eyed the drink with suspicion, the memory of the “antidote” still fresh in my mind. “What’s in it?” I asked cautiously.

“Just some herbs and spices,” she reassured me with a soft smile. “Nothing to worry about. It will help you recover.”

Despite my apprehension, the aroma was actually quite soothing. And the thought of food, after two days of nothing, was appealing.

“Levi… where did he go?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

Annie hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering away. “He had… engagements. He didn’t say much, just that he would be back.”

Her evasiveness didn't escape my notice, but I decided not to press. I was still too weak, too emotionally drained to delve into Levi's plans. For now, the simple comfort of food and Annie’s presence was enough.

…

Annie stayed in the guest bedroom, a quiet presence in the otherwise silent house. In the morning, while I was having another comfort breakfast – Annie insisted on it, and I had to admit, it was helping – Holden arrived. He appeared at the door with his usual briefcase, his expression serious. Annie met him in the foyer, and I saw them exchange some documents, their conversation hushed.

I was feeling better. The dizziness and nausea were gone, and the crushing fatigue had lifted. As Annie settled at the kitchen table with her tablet, her brow furrowed in concentration, likely working, I decided to break the silence.

“Where is Levi and what is he doing?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.

Annie lifted her head, her fingers pausing on the screen. She looked at me for a moment, a hint of reluctance in her eyes, before replying, “Mr. Blake is busy with the investigation of your incident, sir.”

“I figured that,” I said, taking a sip of my tea. “That’s not why I asked.”

“Understood, sir. Mr. Blake informed me that he will answer your question himself.” Her gaze flickered towards the door, as if anticipating his return.

“Is he coming today?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. Mr. Blake was very concerned about your condition.”

“He didn’t seem so,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. The memory of his cold anger and clipped departure still stung.

Annie’s expression softened, a hint of sympathy in her eyes. “Mr. Blake… he has his own way of showing concern, sir. He was quite… agitated when he left.”

Agitated was an understatement. Furious was more like it. But I didn’t press the issue. I knew Annie wouldn’t betray Levi’s confidence.

The day quietly passed, and Levi came home. Annie and I were at the living room. She was busy working while I was busy lazing, I mean recovering. Annie jumped from the chair and quickly went to the door to greet him.

I wasn’t ready to do that yet.

I could hear their muffled talking. Then, Annie left after greeting me. Levi didn’t immediately enter the living room. Instead, he lingered in the shadowed space just beyond the doorway. The wall concealed his face, but his tall, imposing figure was clearly visible, looming in the dim light.

Oh, shit. My heart hammered against my ribs.

Then, slowly, silently he walked towards me, who was now sitting as upright as possible on the couch. His shadow stretched across the room, engulfing me before he even reached the sofa. He stopped a few feet away.

“Hi, Levi…” I said with my remaining courage.

“Good evening, Raphael,” he said with a flat voice. “I am rather tired. But I am glad to see you doing better,” he added while loosening his tie and sighing.

“You really look tired.”

Genuinely, I could see the wrinkles around his eyes.

“I am. I suppose I simply have to dissolve the police entirely, too. Watching their incompetence was frustrating,” he said. Aside from what we said was chilling, I was kinda relieved that he was solving this issue in a legal manner. He wasn’t a brutal man, but what if he was?

What if someday, something clicks and he loses his patience? The thought sent a fresh wave of unease through me.

“About what happened…” I began, my voice hesitant, the apology feeling inadequate against the backdrop of the past few days. “I am sorry about… not drinking that.”

He paused for a while, then retreated to the glass cabinet where we store our drinks. Maybe he was dismissing my apology; maybe he simply couldn’t think of a response. He poured himself some scotch. “I would offer a drink but I think you should refrain from alcohol,” he said while his back was still to me.

Okay, Raphael. Let’s lift this strangling mood or you’re going to drop from anxiety. But, how? Some light banter, or stroking his dick? He might possibly break my wrist if I try to touch him since he radiates ‘I’ll kill you’ energy.

“I feel okay now, it wasn’t that bad.”

That was a valiant, if slightly unconvincing, attempt at downplaying the situation. He was still facing the drinks cabinet, his shoulders tense.

“‘Not that bad’?” he echoed, his voice flat, not turning around. “You were unconscious for two days, Raphael. The medical professionals flushed a potent hallucinogenic compound from your system. You are fortunate to be experiencing merely tiredness and anxiety.”

The energy around him darkened further. Bad attempt. “Okay, sorry, sorry. Do you want me to feel better?”

His grip tightened on the scotch glass, the knuckles of his free hand flexing slightly. He finally turned, the amber liquid in his glass catching the dim light, his gaze sharp and assessing.

“Do I want you to feel better?” he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. “Your two days of incapacitation was… distressing.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from NovelBin. Please report it.

‘Distressing’. Look at Levi learning concern. He took a slow sip of his scotch, his gaze still sharp, but perhaps a fraction less lethal. Well, I lifted the mood from icy glaciers to a snowstorm. It’s still an upgrade.

I extended my hand to him, palm open. “Well, I’ll feel better if you are here.”

He finished his drink and walked to me. He stopped in front of me, looking down at my outstretched hand. Then he took it with a quiet sigh. It was like watching a lion giving you his paw.

“Don’t be shy, come sit on the couch,” I said, giving his hand a gentle tug, trying to project a warmth I hoped would be reciprocated. His hands were always cold. He sat beside me while holding my hand, our fingers entwined.

“I wouldn’t consider myself shy, Raphael,” he said while his eyes fixated somewhere else.

“C’mon. Remember I used some dirty talk and you jumped out of your skin? You are shy.” I pressed gently, squeezing his hand. A faint twitch played at the corner of his lips. His gaze finally flickered down to our intertwined hands, then slowly rose to meet my eyes.

“It was simply unexpected,” he said.

“Yeah, about that,” I said, shifting slightly closer to him on the couch. “Why don’t you just cuss, like ever? It releases anger, you know? All that pent-up ‘dissolve the police’ energy has to go somewhere.” I gave his hand another gentle squeeze, trying to keep the tone light.

“There is no grand reasoning for my speech or my lack of crude language. I simply do not think it is something necessary.”

“So, no vulgarity, not ever?” I pressed, a playful glint in my eyes. “Are you… absolutely sure?”

“I am certain, yes,” he replied, his gaze unwavering, a hint of a challenge in his tone. When you see someone with utmost certainty, don’t you want to just… crush that?

“So, let’s say that I changed your sugar with salt? Would you not cuss?” I pressed.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. His gaze, which had held a hint of amusement, now sharpened considerably. “That,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “would be a deliberate act of sabotage against a morning ritual I hold in high regard.”

He paused, his eyes boring into mine. “While I might refrain from uttering vulgarities, Raphael, I assure you, my displeasure would be conveyed with a clarity that would leave absolutely no room for misinterpretation. You would understand, unequivocally, the… error of your ways.”

Dude just loves his sugar.

“Did you just threaten me over sugar? Oh, God,” I said, a theatrical gasp escaping my lips.

“Your flair for the dramatic is still there, even in recovery,” he observed dryly. “And no, it was not a ‘threat’… Though, I must confess, the thought of my sugar being replaced by salt… is indeed… unsettling.” He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “It would rather… derail the start of the day.”

“And you call me dramatic,” I echoed, a playful smirk tugging at my lips. I leaned back against the cushions, feeling some of the earlier tension finally easing. The sugar threat, as ridiculous as it was, had somehow broken the ice.

“Look, all I am saying, if you cuss, I wanna be there, possibly recording with 4K. It would be a national holiday.” I grinned, thinking Levi letting a cuss word out. His cuss would probably be ‘damn’ at best.

He chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest. “A national holiday, you think? For such a… momentous occasion?” He shook his head, a genuine smile finally gracing his lips.

Wow. Really, it is like watching a falling star. It is far, far away but so beautiful. I watched his smile, a genuine curve that softened the sharp angles of his face.

I really want to kiss him.

The urge was sudden and overwhelming, a direct response to the unexpected warmth in his eyes and the rare vulnerability that smile revealed. It felt precious and fleeting, and I didn't want it to disappear.

I leaned in slightly, my gaze dropping to his lips for a fleeting second. They were so soft when we last kissed. Levi was simply watching, curious about what I was doing…

Then my phone rang. Fuck! I grabbed my phone from the table.

“Yeah?” I answered with a sigh, the anticipation of the moment completely deflated. “Shit, what? You serious? Okay. Okay, yeah.”

I turned off the phone, letting out a long breath that was a mix of relief and lingering frustration at the interruption. My audition was successful.

A wide grin spread across my face, the earlier tension completely forgotten in the rush of good news. "That was my agent," I exclaimed, turning to Levi, my excitement bubbling over. "I got the part! The lead role! Can you believe it?"

I couldn't stop the grin that stretched from ear to ear.

Levi, who had been watching me with a keen interest, raised his eyebrow. “Is that so? I am really glad. Congratulations.” His tone remained measured, but the words themselves carried a sincerity that warmed me. He even offered a small, almost hesitant smile, a fleeting echo of the earlier warmth.

“Well, Raphael,” he said, his gaze softening slightly, “perhaps a celebratory drink then? Though, on this occasion, I will make an exception to my earlier recommendation regarding your alcohol consumption.” He gestured towards the bar with a subtle inclination of his head. “What would you like?”

“No, no, no! Over the two occasions you chose a drink, first the milkshake, second the champagne, I nearly went into a sugar coma. There is no way you are choosing me a drink.”

Levi chuckled again, a low, warm sound that sent a shiver down my spine. Fuck drinks, I want to drown in him. The good news, combined with seeing Levi disheveled, tired, and his genuine laugh, our almost kiss created potent emotions.

“Raphael,” he said, his voice a low rumble, a hint of amusement still dancing in his eyes, “I am rather skilled at mixology, as you well know. And please,” he added, his gaze softening, “do not deny me the pleasure of celebrating my husband’s success.”

Fuck. How is he so good at this, so good at throwing me into so many emotions at once? One moment I'm ready to jump his bones, the next I'm melting under the weight of his rare affection.

He stood up and went to the bar, his movements fluid and graceful even in his weariness. “So,” he called over his shoulder, already selecting bottles with practiced ease, “is there any particular alcohol you prefer?”

I watched him, still reeling slightly from his earlier words. Husband. The way he said it…

“Uhm… surprise me. But nothing too sweet. And… maybe something… celebratory?” I trusted his judgment, and honestly, watching him in his element, even this tired, was rather captivating.

“Nothing too sweet,” he echoed. “I assume this is another reminder of the ‘milkshake’ incident. As much as I apologize, I would like to admit how… memorable your initial reaction was.”

“Memorable? As if I’m ever letting that milkshake incident go. Also, for real, how do your teeth not fall out? It was like drinking molasses.”

Levi chuckled again. Damn, don’t. I barely contain myself from pouncing on you.

He turned back to the bar, picking up a few other ingredients – a bottle of clear spirit, some citrus, and a small vial of bitters. “Given your preference for something celebratory and not excessively saccharine,” he said, his brow furrowing in concentration, “I believe a classic… Thespian Twist might be in order. It is sophisticated, robust, and possesses a certain… celebratory air.” He glanced at me. “Though traditionally made with whiskey, which I know is not your preference, a variation using aged rum offers a similar depth of flavor with a slightly different profile.”

All those fancy talk, I wasn’t hearing any of it. I am not an animal, no, I am not. “Levi, just choose whatever you want…” My focus was entirely on the way the lamplight caught the lines around his eyes, the way his tie was still slightly askew, the lingering warmth in his gaze from earlier.

“As you wish, Raphael.”

As he continued to do whatever he chose, I was watching him over the counter. Deliberate, practiced, known movements; it was like watching a lion, weary from the hunt, still moving with an inherent grace and power.

Why would you go this far for your fake husband? Was it just the arrangement? The necessity of maintaining appearances?

No, don’t ruin this moment with this wishful thinking. Just enjoy the rare sight of Levi relaxed, even if it’s just for a celebratory drink he insists on making. He’s being… nice. Let that be enough for now.

Enjoy and savor the sight of him. He was last married 7 years ago. 7 years of no romantic involvement with anyone. But he knows how to take care of someone. Clearly knows. Stop, you idiot. Just stop deluding yourself.

He finished stirring the drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass. With a practiced hand, he strained the amber liquid into a chilled coupe glass. He then took a small piece of orange peel, twisted it over the drink to release its oils, and dropped it into the glass.

He turned, holding out the cocktail towards me. "The Thespian Twist," he announced, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "To your success, Raphael."

"To success," I echoed, raising the glass slightly. "And to… surprisingly skilled mixologists." I took a small sip. The taste was complex and intriguing – the warmth of the rum, a subtle sweetness balanced by a pleasant bitterness, and a bright citrus note. It was definitely not too sweet, and it had a sophisticated kick. "Wow, Levi," I said, genuinely impressed. "This is actually…not sweet at all, I should congratulate you for restraining yourself.”

A faint smile touched Levi's lips, a hint of pride in his eyes. “Restraint is a virtue, but I must admit, it took great focus.”

Yeah, I know about your restraint from the bed, you absolute monster. Thoughts of that night flashed through my mind, a sudden heat rising within me. “Yeah, thanks. This is actually a really good drink.”

Raphael, damn it, stop. Thinking. About. His. Dick. You pig. I took a larger sip of the Thespian Twist, trying to distract myself from the direction my thoughts were heading.

Be grateful that he is actually here, not because of his duty or whatnot, but he really wants to congratulate. It is rare. Don’t ruin it. “Levi, are you not going to drink?” I asked, trying to distract myself.

“Surely, I will. I was contemplating what to pick.” He was carefully watching the bottles on the glass cabinets. Look at him so absorbed. Brows slightly furrowed, one hand resting lightly on the cool glass. Does he look like this in his office? I imagined him similarly intent over documents or during a tense negotiation, that same unwavering concentration directed towards a different kind of problem.

“I would like to come clean about something. I do not have a particular preference for alcohol itself, since I rarely get tipsy; it is really all about the sweetness of either the drink or the pairings.” Levi confessed while observing me.

Sugar. Again. Is he addicted to sugar? Why am I asking, of course he is.

“Oh, Levi,” I said, shaking my head with mock concern, “I am seriously starting to worry about your sweet tooth. It's… a force of nature.” I took another sip of my drink. “Are you sure you don’t secretly have a candy stash hidden somewhere in this house?”

“What? I have multiple, Raphael,” Levi replied with a perfectly straight face. “One in my study, a smaller selection in the guest room, and a surprisingly well-stocked emergency supply in the master suite.” He paused, as if considering. “Perhaps I should offer you a piece? To complement your… decidedly unsweetened beverage?” He gestured towards a crystal dish on the table, filled with an assortment of colorful candies.

Is this a joke? Is he being real? The deadpan delivery was impeccable, but the sheer absurdity of the confession – multiple secret candy stashes? – made me wonder if I was being subtly mocked. Then again, with Levi, it was often hard to tell.

“Levi,” I said slowly, taking another sip of my drink, “are you… entirely serious right now?”

“Of course I am,” he replied with his blank stare.

Oh my God.

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. A 30-year-old man, this man, this lion, having stashes of snacks all around the house… Tears even pricked at the corners of my eyes.

Levi was unamused by my reaction; he didn’t even understand why I was laughing. His disapproving glare was firmly in place, but no, I wasn't about to be intimidated by someone who secretly hoarded sweets. He glanced at me again and then poured himself a scotch.

“Hey, confess,” I said, a playful smirk returning to my face. “You only drink scotch because it gives you an excuse to eat chocolate, right?” I leaned slightly against the bar, watching him swirl the amber liquid in his glass. “Come on, admit it. The sophisticated drink is just a facade.”

Levi swirled the scotch in his glass, the rich amber catching the light. He took a slow, deliberate sip before lowering the glass and meeting my gaze. “My appreciation for a fine single malt extends beyond mere culinary pairings, Raphael,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “However,” a hint of a smile touched his lips, “I will concede that a square or two of dark chocolate can indeed enhance the experience.” He paused, considering. “Much like a certain actor’s dramatic flair can enhance an otherwise tiring evening.” He took another sip of his scotch, his eyes twinkling slightly.

Shit. He is so good at this. So good at throwing me off balance. I was supposed to be teasing him, making him flustered, not the other way around. I took a larger gulp of my drink, the warmth of the rum doing little to quell the heat rising in my cheeks.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but I could feel my brow furrowing slightly. Had he somehow picked up on my earlier horny thoughts?

“Nothing. It is a compliment. I do find your tantrums, drama amusing, in my often monotonous life. That’s all.” He swirled his scotch again, taking another measured sip.

What do I do? It is an insult, or is it really a compliment? He did say that before. Actually, I had another question lingering in my mind for a really long time. During the Cybil incident, when Levi somehow turned into a ghost, no one around him could say anything about anything he likes. So I wanted to know.

“Levi,” I began, setting my glass down on the bar. The question felt a bit out of the blue, but the moment felt… right, somehow. “I have been wondering about it for quite a while. Is there anything you like, like a hobby, or something you enjoy? Other than sugar, obviously.”

Levi took a long sip. Gazed around the outside for a while, thinking very carefully before answering. “Nothing really stands out in a conventional sense. But, dissolving nobility would probably be my hobby. Other than that, some stimulating conversation, maybe some light music… Truly, I do not possess such preferences.”

Just like Julia said. Revolution, sugar and protected sex. These are his hobbies. Julia had nailed it, in her own blunt way. It was absurd, yet somehow perfectly fitting for Levi.

“What actually made you start this idea?” I asked, the earlier amusement fading as a more serious thought took its place. “I mean, I know it’s connected to your sister’s death…”

“I guess some conversation between us is long overdue on that matter,” Levi said, his voice losing its playful edge, becoming low and serious. He set his scotch down on the bar, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid as he swirled it gently. “There are multiple reasons, but yes, my father’s and sister’s deaths were significant catalysts in pushing me to make such a decision. My mother, as you’ve met, is a proud woman. Proud and cruel. Mostly, because she was treated the same way by her own proud and cruel parent, not that it justifies her actions towards me, my sister, and my father.”

He paused, taking a deep breath. “On the other hand, my father was warm, kind, and a gentle person. Their differences, their constant clashing… it wasn’t born of love. It was purely a consequence of their arranged marriage, their noble birth binding them together despite their fundamental incompatibility. And I spent every day witnessing it, thinking how different things might have been, how much happier they all might have been, if neither of them had been born into their titles. That initial thought bloomed into an ideology, a belief that everyone should be inherently equal, regardless of their birth or station. The irony, of course,” he added, a bitter undertone creeping into his voice, “was that this ideology took root in my own mind, where I was always acutely aware of being ‘more equal’ than almost everyone around me. And so,” he concluded, his gaze finally meeting mine, a stark intensity in his eyes, “I started to plan.” he continued.

“My initial plan wasn’t entirely about dissolving a legal class system. I was only trying to make them stop believing in their outdated traditions, like how men should inherit titles, or how illegitimate children can’t be heirs, or how a noble can only marry a noble. But after a while, as I started to uncover their barbaric, ruthless actions, their blackened hearts, something inside me snapped. So, right now, the plan is not only dissolving already weak and dead nobles; it is to entirely delete their lineage. As I’ve stated multiple times, most of them are already infertile or sterile. This plan of mine, which I started fifteen years ago, is really close to its end. Soon, there won’t be any noble lineage capable of procreating another heir.”

He paused, his gaze unwavering.

“Other than you,” I replied.

“Yes. Unfortunately,” he said, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone. “I am not sterile, and you already know what that led to.” He sighed softly. “My mother, according to information I received, has found five possible birth mothers. Even if the insemination succeeds, the chances of my having five children are slim to none. But if even one of those children is a boy… then it means that, in a way, I have failed.”

“What are you going to do if… you know… if you have kids?” I asked, the question feeling heavy with unspoken implications.

“Well,” Levi said, his tone matter-of-fact, devoid of any discernible emotion, “noble women are perceptibly smarter compared to the noblemen. Therefore, I do not think they would object to the abortion. The potential mothers are possibly my cousins; the children are most likely to be either severely disabled or stillborn. I think what must be done about this is quite clear.” His gaze was direct, unwavering, as if stating a simple, logical conclusion.

“You really were planning a partial genocide.”

That was my first thought about him.

“I wouldn’t call it a genocide, Raphael,” Levi corrected, his tone still matter-of-fact, as if discussing pest control. “Those inbreds are potentially one big family now, given the extent of their intermarriages. Think of it as exterminating one giant bug nest. A necessary measure to prevent further infestation.”

“But… This… Okay… Just give me a second…” I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. The casualness with which he discussed what amounted to the systematic wiping out of families… it was horrifying. I needed a moment to process the sheer scale and implications of what he was telling me.

“Raphael,” Levi said, his voice surprisingly gentle, cutting through my reeling thoughts. “You do not have to understand me, condone me, or simply do anything. Our marriage already served its purpose. You do not have to punish yourself by trying to empathize with me.” His gaze softened slightly, a rare display of something that might have been concern. “I do not expect you to approve.”

His words, meant to be a reassurance, only amplified the chasm that had suddenly opened between us. 'Punish myself by trying to empathize?' Was that how he saw it? As some kind of self-inflicted torment? He couldn't fathom that I might genuinely be trying to understand the darkness that fueled him, not to condone it, but to reconcile it with the man I… knew.

"Levi," I said slowly, my voice still a little shaky, "it's not about punishing myself. It's about... trying to understand you. This isn't some theory we're discussing. This is about the potential end of entire families, orchestrated by you. And you expect me to just... not try to understand the 'why' behind that?"

“Raphael, if it is going to make you sleep better at night, I can give you my documents, all of the evidence I gathered over the course of years. About the nobles and about everything I did to them. But I must ask before, are you absolutely certain that you still might have ‘empathy’ towards me after seeing and learning everything?”

“I… don’t know,” I admitted, the weight of his question pressing down on me. The thought of seeing concrete evidence of his actions, the “everything” he alluded to, was both terrifying and… necessary.

“It is the natural reaction,” Levi said, his voice softening slightly, a hint of understanding in his tone. “Look, I am glad about our night. It has been truly wonderful. Spending time, drinking, talking…” He gestured vaguely around the living room. “But, you do know why we only talk about casual things, don’t you?”

“Yeah… I think I do,” I barely murmured.

“Good night, Raphael. I truly do hope you have a good night.” His tone was polite, the brief moment of vulnerability now gone. He turned and left the living room, his footsteps echoing softly as he walked towards his own suite.