I let out a long, shaky breath as the silence settled between Levi and me. "Levi," I said, my voice low, "you didn't have to scare her off like that."

He turned to me, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Of course not, Pulla. I don't have to do anything. I was simply curious about your reaction. And now," his gaze intensified, his amusement fading into something sharper, "do you understand what I meant by you being cruel to me?"

"Yeah," I admitted, meeting his gaze. "You were bothered that I sided with her. But," I added, trying to inject a note of conciliation, "I am kind of glad that you at least gave her some time... and those documents, instead of something... more immediate."

“Well, it is true that I was gravely wounded by your disloyalty. No, I did not give her time. Lady Elira needed a stronger understanding of my actions and my determination. That’s why I sent her to Lady Isolde’s tea party.”

“Because… Lady Isolde and the other women there are your… informants.”

"Exactly," Levi purred, pleased with my understanding. "Lady Elira will find that her family's secrets are perhaps not as well-kept as she might have hoped. And the whispers at Lady Isolde's gathering... they can be far more persuasive than any direct threat from me. It allows her to draw her own conclusions, wouldn't you agree? A more... organic form of persuasion."

"Organic persuasion," I repeated, the words dripping with sarcasm I didn't dare voice aloud. "So, it's not about giving her a chance to reconsider, but about orchestrating her fear and isolation through gossip and the threat of exposure." I met his gaze, trying to keep my own expression unreadable. "And what is it you hope she concludes, Levi? That defying you is ultimately more ruinous than your initial demand?"

Levi chuckled, a low, self-satisfied sound. "You wrong me, dearly," he said, his gaze flicking over me with a hint of amusement. "But let me admit something to you, little Pulla. If you weren't here, Lady Elira would already be at the clinic, simply sipping the cherry juice they give after blood loss. I was very nice and lenient today, wouldn't you agree?"

"I mean, I don't know, Levi. It's impossible to tell what 'nice' means with you. You threatened her family's ruin, dangled their dirty secrets over her head, and essentially told her to bow to your will or face complete destruction. That doesn't exactly scream 'lenient' to me."

Levi's eyebrows rose slightly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "But?" he prompted, clearly expecting me to elaborate.

"But," I continued, my voice softer now, tinged with a reluctant understanding, "you still gave her time, even though it's manipulative. I think... you gave her the consolation that she made the decision herself. Yeah," I nodded slowly, piecing it together, "by talking to those women, her opinion will likely change, but she'll think it was her own volition. You fucking asshole." The last part was muttered under my breath.

He tangled her into a web.

“My dear Pulla, see the novelty of it; subtle beauty of influence. To guide someone to your desired outcome while allowing them the illusion of free will—that, my dear, is an art form." He leaned back, a picture of smug satisfaction.

Damn. He always wins, always.

"Pulla," he said, his tone shifting from the manipulative mastermind to something resembling a concerned husband, "how was your day?"

Wait, was he talking about the flirty assistant, no right? There was no way he saw that. But I kind of got the job by his influence, but it was just a brief moment. No way. Was this a test?

"Well..." I began, offering a slight shrug, "it was messy and chaotic, as usual. You know how things get at the set." I met his gaze, trying to read his expression for any hint of suspicion, "How was yours, Levi?"

“It was quite ordinary, all things considered. A few meetings, some paperwork... the usual. I did have a rather interesting chat with a mutual acquaintance, though. Small world, isn't it?”

Shit, he knew. Shit. Shit.

Nope, wait. This is Levi, he wouldn’t be just jealous over a young production assistant. He would think it is insulting that I even consider that.

My heart did a little jump, but I forced a casual smile. "Oh, really?" I said, trying to sound genuinely surprised and a little amused. “Who was the ‘mutual’ acquaintance?”

“Oh, it was simply a passing face. Apparently, you were a little distracted at work today.”

“Ah, yeah. I was just tired because of all the things happening.” I tried to keep my composure, making sure Levi didn’t sniff anything. Maybe he really didn’t know or maybe he was waiting for the right moment to strike me with that information; he didn’t press further.

Our afternoon, evening and night passed quietly. Once again, I left early in the morning for the set. I tried to lose myself in the work, focusing on the lines, the blocking, anything to push the questions about Levi's cryptic comment to the back of my mind.

Because of that unease, I was basically on the move, all the time on the set. I didn’t want that idiot production assistant to come close to me. Every time I saw him I turned my back. But damn, he was persistent. Like a heat-seeking missile honed in on my personal space.

It was during the lunch break, when I was trying to cram something edible onto my tray, that the fucking idiot appeared right next to me. My jaw tightened. Oh, god.

“Mr. Blake, thank you so much for yesterday, you saved me.” His voice, annoyingly cheerful, grated on my already frayed nerves. I felt my hand clench around the metal serving spoon. Idiot. Fucking idiot. Did he have no sense of self-preservation?

“What’s your name?” I asked, my voice flat, my gaze fixed on the congealing gravy in front of me. I refused to meet his eyes, every muscle in my body screaming for him to just go away.

“Oh, it is Liam, sir.” He actually sounded pleased that I’d asked. The fool.

“Take your tray,” I finally said, my voice dangerously low, each word clipped and precise. “Do not engage with me further and wait for me in the smoking area.” It wasn’t a request. It was a barely veiled command. I wanted him out of my sight, and I wanted him there so I could make myself clear.

I forced a mouthful of the disgusting gravy down, the flavorless glop doing nothing to settle the agitation churning in my stomach. Then, I tossed the tray aside with more force than necessary and stalked off towards the designated smoking area.

'Liam' was already there, hovering near a cluster of extras huddled around a cigarette. He looked almost... hopeful? My irritation spiked.

I walked straight up to him, stopping a foot away. “Look,” I began, my voice sharp and clear, cutting through the chatter. “I helped you out of goodwill, okay? Don’t think of it as some kind of invitation. I am married, as everybody knows.”

Liam's cheerful demeanor faltered, but only for a moment. Instead of backing down, he shifted slightly, his gaze flickering with something I couldn't quite place. "Sir, I know that. I just... I wanted to thank you properly. Maybe grab a drink sometime, to show my appreciation?" His tone was still polite, but there was a subtle pushiness beneath the surface.

"A drink?" I scoffed, my irritation rising. "Liam, I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm not interested. 'Thank you' was payment enough." I turned to leave, but he stepped closer, blocking my path.

"Just one, Mr. Blake. It wouldn't have to be anything serious. Just a quick one." He offered a hesitant smile, but it felt forced, almost desperate.

I clenched my jaw. This kid wasn't getting the message. "Liam," I said, my voice dangerously low, "I'm going to say this one more time. I am not interested. I suggest you respect my boundaries before I make it impossible for you to misunderstand." The threat was clear, and I let my eyes harden, hoping to finally scare him off.

He finally took a step back, his face flushing a deeper red. "Okay, sir. I understand. Sorry to bother you." But even as he spoke the words, there was a lingering look in his eyes, a stubbornness that suggested he hadn't entirely given up. He retreated, but I knew, with a sinking feeling, that this wouldn't be the last I heard from him. The persistent little shit.

Fuck, Levi was surely going to chew him up and spit him out. The thought sent a shiver of unease down my spine, not only for him, but for myself.

The rest of the day crawled by, each scene feeling like a marathon. The earlier energy of the set had been replaced by a heavy, oppressive atmosphere, at least in my head. I felt like everyone was watching me, waiting for me to crack.

I practically rushed out of the studio, went directly to the house, hoping Levi wouldn’t be home. I just wanted a moment of peace, a respite from the tension and the questions. The image of Levi's face, his cryptic smirk, haunted me. I needed to prepare myself.

But he was at home. Why? He always came well into the evening, borderline at night.

He was in the kitchen, preparing himself his overly sweet milkshake. He saw me and lifted his head off the counter, “Good evening, Raphael.” His voice was calm, almost... pleasant. I wanted to revel in that pleasant feeling.

“Hi, Levi. Are you making a milkshake again?” I tried to keep my tone light, but there was an edge to it, a lingering anxiety from the day's events.

“Yes, would you like one?”

“No, thank you. I still have PTSD over your milkshake.” I managed a weak smile, but my mind was racing.

“Are you sure, Raphael? You seem a little pale.” Levi's eyes narrowed slightly, his tone shifting from casual to something more... observant. He was watching me too closely.

“No, no, just a little tired.” I waved my hand dismissively while walking upstairs to go to my room, praying that he didn’t hear my heart thrumming in my chest.

“Raphael, tomorrow is Sunday; we need to have dinner outside.” he said.

Yeah, every Sunday we had to attend a dinner for cameras, for tabloids, as the contract stated. But this abrupt command was making me uneasy. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go somewhere nice,” I said, trying to sound agreeable, but there was a forced cheerfulness in my tone.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

I spent the rest of the day in my room. Levi thankfully didn’t come to my room, and I was busying myself reciting lines for tomorrow’s scene. The movie was a beautifully shot historical drama set in the fictional land of Aethelgard. I played Aerion, a young man with an otherworldly beauty and a prodigious talent for Lumin painting. The story explored the tension between Aerion's artistic vision and the demands of the royal court, delving into themes of social class and the struggle for creative freedom.

It felt ironic to play a character like that, given my current life but, the production was high quality, and the script was promising. All that needed was my acting to bring it to life, to make Aerion's struggle resonate.

...

The night passed and another day at the set began.

Since the shooting was still only a few days in, chaos was never-ending. Everyone was still finding their rhythm, and last-minute adjustments seemed to be the norm. Also, because it was a historical piece set in Aethelgard, the costumes were breathtakingly expensive, each stitch and detail meticulously crafted. The decor was equally exquisite, transforming the sound stages into royal chambers and grand halls. It was visually stunning, a feast for the eyes, but it also added to the pressure to get everything just right.

A month ago, I would have never imagined being on a set like this, let alone playing the lead role. It was the Blake name, sure. But over the past month, I'd been watching Levi carefully. His moves, his calculations... if he hadn’t been absolutely certain I could pull this off, he wouldn’t have allowed me anywhere near this production. Navigating the intricate web of Levi’s noble rivals and allies in Ascaria had become a performance in itself. High-pressure situations on a movie set felt almost tame in comparison.

As my confidence was shining, the persistent bastard, Liam, was making his way to me, with a hopeful look on his face that immediately soured my mood. Here we go again.

He stopped a few feet away. "Mr. Blake," he began, his voice a little louder than necessary to be heard over the set noise. "That blue really suits you. It brings out your eyes." He gestured vaguely in my direction, almost knocking over a nearby lighting stand. He quickly righted it, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Sorry! Just... yeah, the blue."

Oh, for God's sake. I plastered on the most insincere smile I could muster. "How thoughtful, Liam. Now, I'm needed. Duty calls, you know?" I gave a dismissive wave of my hand, already pivoting away from him before he could respond further. I could feel his gaze lingering on my back as I walked towards the director, who was gesturing for me.

Dude, just get it. It is for your own safety.

As I stood listening to the director explain the next shot, I felt a presence beside me. Liam had followed me over. Before I could subtly move away, he spoke, his voice carrying a little too loudly in the relatively quiet huddle around the director. "Mr. Blake is looking particularly radiant today, isn't he? That light just loves him." He punctuated the comment with a chuckle, drawing the attention of a few nearby crew members and even the director, who raised an eyebrow in my direction.

Dude, what the fuck? What the fuck? How could this production assistant muster up the courage to publicly flirt with the lead actor? Where was this misplaced confidence coming from? Was it really just because I helped his dumbass out?

I could just punch the fuck out of him after the set. Levi would approve, would even give me pointers.

But, if I made a scene, every tabloid would be filled with how the Saint of Ascaria’s husband just punched a random guy, abusing his authority on the set. Fuck. That was the last thing I needed. A scandal like that would give his rivals ammunition for weeks. I clenched my jaw, forcing a tight smile towards the director, trying to appear unfazed by Liam's ridiculous comment. "Surely, I am just doing my job," I said, my tone deliberately neutral, hoping to steer the conversation back to the work at hand. The director chuckled, seemingly oblivious to the underlying tension. "Raphael, now, about this next scene..." He refocused on explaining the blocking, and I subtly shifted my body, putting a bit more distance between myself and the bastard Liam.

But his attempts didn't stop there. Throughout the rest of the day, Liam's persistent attempts kept happening. A little too long of a lingering glance, an unnecessary offer to fetch me coffee, another awkward compliment about my "artistic aura." It was like a low-grade, irritating hum that I couldn't tune out. And I started noticing the whispers. A few sidelong glances from the makeup artists, a hushed conversation between two grips in the corner. Fuck.

When the rest of the day finally wrapped, and I left the set, I was still completely bothered by everything that had transpired. Liam’s persistent, awkward attempts, the whispers I'd caught... it all churned in my stomach like sour milk.

And I had that damn dinner with Levi tonight. In public. In front of cameras. Fuck. The thought sent another wave of nausea through me. Just as I was pulling out of the studio lot, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Holden. The dinner venue. Of course, it would be somewhere swanky, somewhere designed for maximum visibility.

I drove to the dinner venue, hoping the familiar act of driving might clear my head a little bit. Well, it didn’t completely clear the anxiety, but the focused concentration on the road and the changing scenery offered a slight distraction. The venue, as always, was exquisite—a high-end restaurant known for its celebrity clientele. This time, however, Levi wasn’t outside to escort me. I had to navigate the army of paparazzi and their dizzying flashes of light alone, offering a practiced, albeit strained, smile as I made my way inside.

Inside, a waiter, impeccably dressed, immediately approached me. "Mr. Blake?" he inquired politely. I nodded, and he offered a small, courteous smile. "This way, please." He then escorted me through the elegantly appointed dining room, past hushed conversations and clinking silverware, towards a more private inner part of the venue where Levi was already seated at a secluded table.

I sat down across from him, the exhaustion of the day suddenly hitting me with full force. On the other hand, the king of control, Levi, was the picture of composure. He sat in his impeccably tailored suit, his dark hair neatly parted, his gaze steady and observant as he watched me settle in.

“I’m gonna drop dead from exhaustion, Levi,” I said, the words coming out with a sigh that I didn’t even try to suppress.

“Surely, Pulla. Exhaustion is expected from your line of work.”

“How was yours?”

“If you are asking about the office, it was simply ordinary. If you are asking about more pressing matters, the rat in the Palace is irritating me.” His tone was clipped, a hint of steel beneath the surface.

“Rat… in the palace…” I echoed, rubbing my temples. “Oh, you’re talking about the thing with that noble… What was his name? Clarke, the homophobic asshole.”

Levi confirmed, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

“Yes, Pulla. Clarke himself is merely a tool; he does not have the means to obtain that information. Which means there is someone in the king’s chamber, serving someone else than me.” His gaze sharpened, the earlier hint of exhaustion in my own eyes seemingly unnoticed.

Shit, how am I supposed to explain to this man I am tired because of one persistent, lovesick dog?

“Yeah? Shit sucks for both of us,” I replied, trying to inject a bit of solidarity into the conversation without going into the embarrassing details of my day.

Levi's lips curved into a subtle, almost predatory smile. "Does it? Perhaps comparing our woes will offer a unique form of entertainment for the evening. Though I confess, I struggle to imagine what could possibly equate to a potential leak of sensitive information from the heart of the monarchy." There was a definite teasing glint in his eyes, as if he already suspected my troubles were far less dramatic, but he was willing to indulge me nonetheless.

"Only if you promise to not just, you know… kill someone," I said, cutting him off, a shiver running down my spine despite the absurdity of his implication.

"I am not barbaric, Pulla. I wouldn’t just go my way and kill someone. But, if they already have a condition that requires medication—"

"Nope, don’t even finish that sentence," I cut him off, a shiver running down my spine despite the absurdity of his implication. "Okay… there is a weird guy at the set. I told him I'm married, but he just keeps bothering me. Like, relentlessly."

Levi's amusement faded slightly, replaced by a flicker of something sharper. "How persistent is he, Pulla?"

"Like really, really persistent. Yeah, today, at the set, he followed me around all day and then said some embarrassing shit right next to the director, like everyone heard him." The memory still made my cheeks burn. “He was making sure everyone heard him, you know?”

“Hm… Pulla, do tell. How did he approach you?”

“That idiot broke a vase at the set, and I covered for him. I guess that’s where he got the courage.” I shrugged, feeling foolish for even mentioning it.

Levi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Courage to approach you like that cannot just stem from admiration. Am I correct?” His tone was low, almost a purr, and I knew that look. He wasn't just curious; he was assessing a potential threat.

“Yeah, you are,” I admitted, a knot of unease tightening in my stomach.

Levi leaned back a little bit, possibly as gears were turning in his head. “Intriguing. It suggests either a remarkable lack of awareness or a deliberate attempt to provoke a reaction. Which do you believe it to be?”

Thinking back… There was a possibility that Liam hadn’t simply approached me, but rather created the vase incident deliberately, knowing I'd likely cover for him…

“Shit. I think that vase incident… Fuck. I think there’s a rat in the set too.”

“Interesting thought, Pulla,” Levi said, his gaze unwavering. “But I am a dutiful husband, as you very well know. I would not allow a rat to scurry around at my husband’s workplace without my… awareness.” There was a subtle emphasis on the last word, a hint of steel in his voice that sent a shiver down my spine.

“What— what are you gonna do to him?”

Levi’s lips curved into a slow, enigmatic smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Pulla, he might indeed be a ‘rat’, possibly sent by nobles to tarnish your reputation, therefore mine. Remember the fundraiser event.”

“Yeah, I got poisoned by hallucinatory drugs.” The memory of the disorienting terror made me shudder.

“But there is also a possibility the ‘rat’ is just a cockroach that doesn’t know his place. Be not worried; let your husband ease your worries.”

Levi, easing someone’s worries. Nope, that ain’t happening.

“God, just please don’t do something drastic, okay?”

“Pulla, you are wounding me,” Levi said, a hint of amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

“No, just don’t play the victim again. Just… don’t kill him. But he annoys the fuck out of me so, relocate him? Maybe?” I offered, the thought of Liam simply disappearing being surprisingly appealing. It felt like a reasonable compromise, at least in my slightly frayed state.

“Hm… Your unwavering loyalty and consideration to those humans…” Levi’s amusement faded. “He stalked you, irritated you, and maybe if you weren’t in a position of power, things could easily escalate further, possibly hurting you. All of this, in exchange for your kindness. I simply cannot entertain your notion of a gentle relocation, Pulla.” His gaze was firm.

“Look, you are kind of right. But… I am not saying it for that bastard, I am saying it for you.”

“My Pulla is so emotional, and gentle. You are concerned for me, now?” A soft smile touched Levi’s lips, a genuine warmth replacing the earlier steel in his eyes.

“Why are you even asking that, Levi? You know I am.” I met his gaze steadily.

Look at him enjoying this. Thinking back, all the dramatic words he used about me, like; ‘you wound me, cruel to me, rude to me’. Was he being entirely theatrical, or was there a sliver of genuine feeling behind them? Not sadness, certainly not, but maybe… a tiny bit of being ‘hurt’ when I was sharp or dismissive?

No way, I thought for a second. But, maybe… the possibility was there.

What were the words he used, or what was the thing he was focused on when he said those dramatic words? Me siding with Lady Elira, me siding with bastard Liam…

Oh, it was… loyalty. He reacted when he perceived a lack of unwavering loyalty towards him. A faint smile tugged at my lips. He didn’t particularly care for polite gestures, and he certainly wasn't an attention-craving man like me. What Levi craved was undying, relentless, never-ending loyalty.

And that, I realized with a sudden flash of understanding, was the key to his constant "dutiful husband" act. It wasn't just about maintaining appearances or political strategy, though those were certainly factors. It was his way of demonstrating his own unwavering loyalty to me, to the image of "us." The realization was almost… endearing, in a twisted, Levi-esque sort of way.

Was it love? No. It definitely wasn’t. It was something even transcending love. It was, someone, being there for you, even without understanding or condoning you. Yeah. Fuck, Raphael. It took you a month to understand that.

I chuckled lightly to my own enlightenment, a small, private amusement at the belated dawning of this realization. After my brief internal journey, Levi spoke, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Pulla, I am so glad to know that you are concerned about me.”

I bet you are. Damn, he was so unfairly handsome when that very faint, almost shy smile touched his lips.

“So, dinner. Shall we, Levi?” I said, a slight smile mirroring his.