The corridor stretched wide—so wide that his footsteps echoed faintly, but not loud enough to break the hush. It was that kind of silence—the kind that listened back. Obsidian floors gleamed underfoot, polished so sharply they threw back the glow of the chandeliers above—crescent moons suspended in soft gold, casting these dim halos across walls draped in heavy velvet. Silver etchings of wolves and moons climbed the towering arches like they were alive. Morning sun cut through stained glass, splintering the light into a thousand drifting fragments across the floor. Like dreams. Spilled dreams, still warm.
His golden eyes moved slow, hungry, taking in every inch. Every detail. There was a beauty here. Power in the stillness. This place didn't feel borrowed anymore. It didn't just look like a palace.
It felt like it answered to him.
So this is my mansion. Moonwalker Estate.
The name didn't just sound noble now—it rang with something older. Something deeper. Blood. Legacy. And a silence that remembered every secret.
Until this morning, he hadn't even stepped past the bedroom. Not once. Since the day he woke in this world, all he'd done was lie there—drowning in fragments of someone else's life. The other Leon Moonwalker. His memories. His world. His girl.
The one who called him Father.
But now, walking these halls for the first time… it wasn't foreign. It didn't feel like he was pretending. He didn't feel like a ghost in someone else's skin. His steps were steady. Measured. His shoulders set the way they were supposed to. Chin up. Gaze sharp.
It wasn't just posture. It wasn't just performance.
He walked like it was his. Because it was. Now.
He carried himself like a Duke—every movement deliberate, every pause thick with presence. But under all that control, something warmer curled and stirred. Not pride. Not arrogance. Something stranger.
Awe.
Like he was touching something holy with bare hands.
This life… it's mine now.
Aria moved beside him like breath. No words. Just the soft rustle of her dress as it skimmed her legs, the quiet click of heels in time with his. Her scent—lilac and early tea—stayed close, trailing behind them like a memory that refused to fade. Sometimes, she glanced at him, lashes heavy, violet eyes catching just the edge of his sharp profile. The way his black hair shifted with each step. The way his face stayed unreadable. Like he didn't notice.
Or maybe he did. And just didn't say anything.
Her cheeks flushed. A slow, unspoken warmth. He never turned.
They took a left. Then a right. Another left. No hesitation. He knew where he was going. Like he'd always known.
He stopped at a tall black door, the wood carved deep with the Moonwalker crest.
This is my study.
He didn't need to think. The memory was inside him now—like muscle, like instinct. The estate didn't just feel familiar. It felt intimate. Lived in. His fingers moved without doubt as he pushed the door open.
The room breathed with quiet grandeur.
Sunlight poured through a wide window behind the desk, spilling gold across the mahogany floors. The velvet curtains—midnight-dark and heavy—hung like shadows on either side. Towering bookshelves reached all the way up, packed with thick, ancient tomes. History. Politics. Magic. Power. Everything that mattered. And in the center—anchoring the space like it ruled the room—a massive black-and-silver desk, its surface engraved with the House sigil. To the right, a polished blade rested mounted above a glass case full of old scrolls. The scent of ink and old parchment, mingled faintly with tea—still lingered, like breath held too long.
And in the chair across from the desk sat a man. Like he belonged there. Like he always had.
Middle-aged. Silver hair, tied back neatly. His robe was deep ocean-blue, edged in fine silver—formal, ceremonial. The kind worn only by envoys of the Crown.
His eyes lifted as the door opened. Steady. Sharp. Controlled.
He rose at once and bowed—not stiffly, but with the kind of grace that came from years of court.
"Duke Leon Moonwalker," he said, smooth and clear, his head dipping again with perfect form.
Leon didn't blink. Didn't break rhythm. The memories stirred, quiet and calm.
Sir Harven. A royal envoy. He'd known the previous Leon well.
Leon offered a small nod—subtle, precise. Not warmth. Just... recognition.
He crossed the room without a word, lowering himself into the Duke's chair like it was second nature. No rush. No pretense. Every movement was his own. One hand lifted slightly.
"Sit."
Harven obeyed, posture flawless, folding his hands in his lap. Behind Leon, Aria stayed where she was—still, poised, like a flame that never strayed from its candle. She didn't need words. Her presence said enough.
"Your Grace," Harven began, voice calm and measured, "His Majesty the King has extended an invitation."
Leon's head tilted, golden eyes narrowing just slightly. That flicker of curiosity—sharp and quiet.
"Oh?"
Harven slipped a hand into his robe and pulled out a thick black envelope. The paper was textured—rich, high-quality—marked in silver. The seal glinted. Wax, shaped like a crescent moon. Clean. Royal. Heavy with implication.
Leon took it. Ran his thumb across the seal, feeling the grooves.
The Moon… he mused. So the King sends for me.
He cracked the seal and opened it, eyes scanning the lines. The handwriting was smooth. Elegant.
"To the Esteemed Duke of Moonwalker House,
By order of His Majesty King Aurelian Moonlight, you are invited to attend the Grand Coming-of-Age Ceremony of Her Royal Highness, Princess Lira Moonlight, to be held exactly one month from today at the royal palace in Moonspire.
Your presence is not only welcomed… it is expected.
May the Moon bless your path.
—By Royal Decree."
Leon exhaled, slow. Thoughtful. His eyes lingered on the words.
Princess Lira… the only heir to the throne.
The Moonstone Kingdom's golden child. And her ceremony… it wasn't just a party. It was a sacred rite. The entire realm would be watching.
He folded the letter carefully, laying it flat on the desk. When he looked up, Harven was already watching him—calm, unreadable.
"A surprise, perhaps?" Harven asked, voice soft.
Leon let a smirk play at the edge of his mouth. "A curious one."
A few quiet seconds passed. The letter lay there, a quiet weight between them.
Leon tapped it once. "I'll attend. I won't be late."
Harven dipped his head again, hands still folded. "I will inform His Majesty. Thank you for your time, Duke Leon. May the Moonlight guide you."
Leon nodded once. "Convey my gratitude for the invitation."
Harven stood and left without another word, his footsteps vanishing beyond the door.
Silence settled in again, thick and still.
Leon leaned back in his chair, one finger tapping the armrest.
If I wanted to take control of the Moonstone Kingdom… this could be my window. A single princess. No male heir. A throne waiting.
His mind raced. Plans forming. Possibilities branching like spiderwebs.
And then, like a whisper—
"My Lord?"
Aria's voice broke gently into his thoughts.
He turned toward her. She was still there—framed by soft light, silver hair spilling down her shoulders, those violet eyes bright but hesitant.
He smiled, softer now. "Yes?"
She flushed again. Just slightly. "Before you begin your work… would you like breakfast?"
He blinked. Right. He hadn't eaten a damn thing.
"…No, I haven't," he admitted, his voice low.
"I can bring fruit and tea here, if you prefer," she offered, a little hopeful.
He nodded. "That would be perfect. Thank you, Aria."
She bowed, graceful as always. Her hair cascaded forward, like silk brushing the air. Then she turned and walked toward the door.
And his eyes… they followed.
He didn't mean to stare. But he did.
The way her hips moved beneath that uniform—tight, neat, teasing with every step. Her waist. Her back. That gentle sway.
And just for a moment, he imagined his hands there. Sinking in. Pulling her close.
Then—
[Ding!]
A crisp chime rang out in his head like a spark snapping into reality.
[System Alert: New Mission Issued]
[Mission Triggered: Fuck Aria – Head Maid of House Moonwalker]
[Objective: Make Aria Completely Yours]
[Reward: Scent of Arousal, +20 Black Points]
[Warning: Mission Failure will result in the disabling of Touch of Charm]
[Time Limit: 20 Days]
Leon stiffened, his thoughts choking mid-desire.
What the—?
He sat up straighter, heart hammering—not in fear. No, it was excitement.
The system had spoken again. Another mission. Another target.
Aria.
Warm, loyal, graceful Aria. Always nearby. Always his.
He exhaled slowly, the hunger rising behind his eyes.
He was already thinking about it. About her. About claiming her. Slowly. Completely.
The system had just caught up to him.
Twenty days? He let out a breath that curled into a smirk.
I won't need that long.
His golden eyes narrowed, the grin twisting into something darker.
Predatory.
Promising.
A taste of what was to come.