A Mirror, A Family, A Table of Warmth
Victor emerged from the bath, water droplets cascading down his body like melted glass. He grabbed a towel off the rack, tied it around his waist, and walked back into his room.
The room greeted him again with its white-and-gold radiance. The floating lamps continued to glimmer dimly, curtains still stirred by the night wind, and all appeared unfellowed—as if waiting specifically for him.
Victor smiled softly, tracing his hand over the wall. "I will never cease being astonished by this place."
In his past life on Earth, luxury was not alien to him. A gigolo, he had good-looking paychecks and spoiled clients who showered him with costly apartments, velvet sheets, and fine cuisine. But even those were bettered by this room. His so-called luxuries were rented illusions—here, this grandeur was a fixed entity, his by right.
Shaking the droplets off his long raven-black hair, Victor arched his shoulders, his flesh radiating softly from the heat of the bath. He felt lighter, freer—due in part to the unending rounds he had just spent with Violte. She had escaped him panting, drained, but smoldering hotter.
When he asked her why she didn't come outside, she smiled with that familiar softness. "I don't want to intrude on your life just yet. When you're ready—when you're settled—introduce me to your parents. Until then… I'll stay inside of you. I feel at home there, too."
Victor had chuckled, stroking his fingers over her face before she dissolved back into him. Home. The word vibrated differently now.
He stepped towards the wardrobe, opened it and chose nightwear: dark silk pants as smooth as water, and a white button-down shirt he left intentionally half-unbuttoned. The look was relaxed, but biting enough.
Securing the waistband, his eyes went to the corner mirror.
He hesitated. Closer. Looked. And stiffened.
"…Holy fuck."
A quiet breath slipped past his lips as he leaned forward, fingertips brushing the polished wood. "I'm… I'm fucking handsome."
The man looking back at him was barely real. Raven-black hair tumbled down to his shoulders, heavy, wet, and untamed, surrounding a face chiseled with sadistic detail. His skin was pale but not fragile, stretching tight. Purple eyes glowed softly like molten amber, heavy with a gravity that could mute a room. His brows were sharp as needles, his jaw strong and angled, his nose straight and authoritative.
He was not heavy-set, but lean and polished—the physique of an athlete, not a beast. Muscles wound in silent power, beautiful in proportion. And over his chest and sides, pale red welts radiated where Violte's ardor had burned him. Each one spoke of passion, closeness, and strength.
Victor smirked. "If I were still on Earth… I'd be a hell of an idol. No—fuck that—a legend."
He cocked his head, observing the way his hair moved, the way his eyes were illuminated by the lamplight. Within, Violte stirred, but said nothing. She only smiled in silence at the image of her man, observing from within.
Victor swept one hand, running it through his hair, unable to resist the exhilaration that ran through him. For once, he indulged in this vanity.
And then—
The door groaned.
A slow click, a groaning creak. Not rushed, not uncertain—just… calculated.
Victor didn't turn right away. He remained in position, looking at himself, fingers on the edge of the table. Then, with smooth calm, he turned slowly, purple eyes squinting, as if he already knew who was waiting but wanted to observe it.
The shirt lay open on his chest, loose material rippling with the barely perceptible breeze that did not exist. Lantern light brushed against the ridges of his chest, casting shadow and light alike.
Three people stood in the doorway.
Anna Lionheart. Purple hair falling down her back, purple eyes like twilight, dressed in a plain gown that made her beauty no less regal.
Ben Lionheart. Black hair loosely bound, blue eyes as unyielding as steel, wearing not royal finery but simple trousers and a dark blue tunic, the sort of attire a father might wear when he wished to be merely a man, not a Duke.
And between the two of them—Ania Lionheart. His little sister. Barefoot in nightclothes, hair loose from hurrying, eyes aglow with that kind of unstained concern only she could possess.
Victor's chest constricted. His breath ceased for half a beat. For a man who had lost loved ones in one reality and found them again here, the vision was nearly too much.
Anna's voice broke into the silence softly. "My son… we didn't mean to interrupt you by coming here."
The words jolted him out of his trance. Victor shook his head sternly. "Mother, what are you talking about? You three… you're my world. You could never interrupt me. If anything—you're presence is what I desire the most."
Ben smiled, the corners of his mouth twitching with pride. "My son. In this era, many young ones hate interference. They push their parents away. But you…" He nodded firmly. "You cherish us. I'm proud of you."
Victor scratched the back of his head, half-smiling. "Father… your words are too heavy."
Anna's lips tilted upwards in a gentle smile as she moved closer, wiping away wet strands of hair from his forehead. "My little son… you are always cute, no matter how tall you become."
Victor's throat constricted.
Anna rested her palm against his cheek, her tone gentler now. "Come. We will eat dinner together. Your father, your sister, and I… we have not had one bite since the afternoon. We were waiting for you."
Victor blinked, eyes dilating. "You… you didn't eat? Any of you?"
Ania smiled quietly, keeping her hands pressed behind her back. "How could we, brother? You were gone. I was afraid. We all were. How could food be important when you weren't here?
Victor gazed at them—his mother's warm eyes, his father's proud smile, his sister's shining innocence—and his chest burned with something fierce, something raw. His voice was hoarse. "You… all of you behave like children. If I had not come back tonight, what then? Starve?"
Anna smiled gently. "If you do not come, we do not eat. We'll find you instead."
Ben moved forward, placing a firm hand on Victor's shoulder. His blue eyes were sparkling. "What are you saying, my son? Your fears are ours. If you're gone, do you imagine I would sit and eat as if nothing occurred? No. A father who doesn't love his son's return is no father at all."
Ania approached him, pulling his sleeve. Her little voice shook in obstinate devotion. "And for me, big brother… I am a child. I don't care about food. I love you too much. Without you, I don't even want to eat. You're my everything."
Victor stood rigid. She had pierced through him with those words. She clung to him, her face buried in his belly. His arms jerked, hesitant, then closed around her reflexively. His eyes seared, the tears shoving at the corners—but he would not let them fall.
Anna and Ben shared a glance, their mouths opening into proud, smug smiles.
Anna teased gently, "My, my… Victor. Your sister loves you too much. But you see, Ania, your brother loves his mother just as much too, don't you know?"
Victor's lips twisted into a small, genuine smile. He faced Anna. "Yes, Mother. I love you too—more than words can ever quantify.
Ben huffed, throwing his arms up in a great gesture. "Ah, wonderful. The three of you, united, and me? Discarded. I feel hurt, betrayed by my own family!"
Anna rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Ben, you always make things a drama."
Ania laughed, still holding on to Victor. "I love you too, Father. But not more than Brother.
Victor chuckled quietly at last, releasing the pain from his chest. He gazed at them all, his voice gentle. "Don't worry. I love you all, my dearest family."
Ben let out a harsh laugh. "Ha! That's my son."
Anna's smile relaxed into something beaming. "Then come. Let's have dinner. We've waited long enough."
On her clap, the side doors creaked open. A procession of maids came in silently, wearing black-and-white uniforms, each of whom was graceful and amazingly beautiful. They bore silver trays, setting dishes out on the low table beside the couch. Steam and spices permeated the air, mixing with the lavender that was already there.
Victor's eyes flicked over them, and a thought pulsed through him. Even the maids are this beautiful? What the fuck…
Inside, Violte's voice purred, audible only to him. This is only the beginning, my love. Greater beauties will come. More temptations. More choices.
Victor exhaled quietly, shaking his head. I'll deal with that when it comes.
The maids bowed in unison and left, closing the doors behind them.
Ania tugged at his hand again, her eyes wide and pleading. "Brother, let's eat. I'm hungry."
Victor smiled faintly, ruffling her hair. "Alright, cutie pie. Let's go."
She pulled him forward eagerly, her laughter ringing clear. Behind them, Anna and Ben followed at a slower pace, watching the two gems they called children.
For an instant, husband and wife exchanged a look, pride shining in their eyes. And so, there were all four sitting down to dinner together—Victor's first family dinner.