The villa's doors closed behind them with a soft thud. He didn't rush. Not yet. Watching her as she stepped forward, he let his eyes linger, taking in the careful way she measured each step, hesitant but curious.
"You'll stay here," he said, voice calm, almost detached. "This is your room."
She blinked at the space, and for a moment, he caught a flicker of something in her expression—surprise. Not awe exactly, but… recognition that this was more than she expected. The room was large, clean, and organized. Soft sunlight filtered through tall windows, highlighting polished wooden floors and shelves filled with neatly arranged belongings. A bed covered in thick linens waited in the corner, and a small table held a selection of fresh fruits and a carafe of water.
Her gaze darted from one detail to the next, lips parting slightly. He leaned against the doorway, silent, arms crossed. The way she moved, touching a vase lightly, opening drawers, turning the handles of the wardrobe—it was all… small acts of ownership, of exploration. He noted each one.
A set of new clothes had been laid out on the bed—simple but elegant. Fabrics soft, cut to fit her frame perfectly. He'd ensured the colors suited her, though she didn't yet know that. She picked up the first outfit, running her fingers over it, the faintest blush coloring her cheeks.
"Don't touch the others yet," he said softly, almost casually, though every word carried weight. She froze mid-motion, instinctively obeying. Her eyes flicked up, meeting his. That small hesitation, that quick glance—he could feel her pulse even from here.
He didn't move. Just watched. Every subtle reaction, every tiny sign that she was learning her place, fascinated him. Her curiosity. Her caution. The way she didn't yet know whether to fear him or simply… notice him.
"Eat first. Hydrate. Then you can try on the clothes," he said, finally stepping inside just enough to close the door behind him. Not blocking her path, just reminding her who was in charge.
She nodded, moving to the small table. He leaned against the wall near the door, observing as she sat and slowly picked up an apple, turning it in her hands. She was quiet, careful, but she was also… alive.
And he liked that.
For now, he said nothing more. He didn't need to. Her eyes kept flicking toward him, and that alone told him enough: she was aware. Alert. Cautious. And perhaps… a little intrigued.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. Interesting. Very interesting.
She approached the bed cautiously, her fingers brushing over the fabrics as if they might bite. The material was soft, almost too soft—luxurious, far beyond anything she had touched in the sanctuary. She picked up a pale blouse and a fitted skirt, holding them against herself, unsure where to start.
He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching. Not a word, not a gesture to hurry her, just the quiet weight of his presence.
Finally, she took a deep breath and slipped out of her simple sanctuary dress. She hesitated at the door for the briefest second, aware of him observing, then stepped toward the bed.
The clothes slid over her skin, soft against her arms and legs. She adjusted the blouse, tugged at the hem, tried to smooth the skirt. Every small movement he noticed—the way she tucked the fabric, the slight curl of her fingers, the careful set of her shoulders.
"You… wear it well," he said finally, voice low, calm. Nothing more. But it was enough.
She froze, cheeks warming. The praise—or perhaps acknowledgment—sent a strange flutter through her chest. His eyes lingered, sharp and dark, but not cruel. He was studying her. Testing her. Curious.
She shifted slightly, unsure if she should move closer to the mirror or stay where she was. Her reflection showed a version of herself she barely recognized: cleaner, more polished, aware of the space she occupied. A small part of her reveled in it, and another part hesitated, as though she were stepping into someone else's skin.
He stepped a little closer, slow, deliberate. Not intimidating, but deliberate. The room seemed to shrink around them, each movement measured, each glance charged.
"Keep your shoulders straight," he said softly, almost casually, as if commenting on posture. But the way his eyes followed every inch of her body made it feel like a test. "Relax your hands. Confidence matters more than you think."
She nodded, adjusting again, trying to meet his gaze. Her heart hammered. She didn't know if he was satisfied or just… evaluating.
"Good," he said after a long pause. "Not perfect, but better than I expected."
She exhaled, relief and tension mingling in a strange swirl. And somewhere beneath it, a tiny spark of something dangerous—excitement, curiosity, and a little fear—stirred.
He turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to make sure she noticed. "When you're done, come find me. There are more… instructions waiting."
As he left, she stayed by the mirror a moment longer, tracing her reflection with hesitant fingers. The silk and soft cotton felt foreign, but somehow right. And for the first time since leaving the sanctuary, she wondered: was this fear, or was it… anticipation?
The sound of her footsteps trailed softly behind him, a rhythm he had already memorized. She was light, hesitant… but she followed. As they entered the wide marble‑lined hall, he slowed his pace just enough for her to catch up.
Without asking, he reached for her hand. His grip was firm—not rough, but commanding. Her smaller fingers trembled slightly inside his palm. Good, he thought. She understands.
"You're mine," he said lowly, just for her. "And as mine, others will respect you. Even if you're from the Sanctuary… you're no less here."
His words lingered in the air like a quiet threat to anyone who might think otherwise.
The heavy doors of the dining hall opened. His family sat around the long table, their faces turning in unison. Judging eyes swept over her like cold blades. She stiffened beside him, but he didn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her falter.
A single hard glance from him silenced their sneers. Then, without hesitation, he guided her to the chair beside his at the head of the table—the place reserved for someone untouchable.
He let go of her hand only after she sat. "All of you," his voice carried through the room, calm but unyielding. "This is Diana. My female. She will be cared for. And no one touches what's mine."
His father's eyes narrowed from the opposite side of the table. "At least you finally took one," the older male muttered, a cold smirk crossing his face. "Make sure she gives you strong children."
He saw her head tilt down at those words, her gaze dropping to the polished table. She was trying to disappear behind the long strands of her hair. She heard it. Of course she did.
He leaned back, his sharp gaze never leaving his father. She may not like what comes next, he thought. But she's here now. And I won't let anyone break her—not even him.
The older male's words had barely left his mouth when a strange shimmer rippled through the dining hall. Diana's eyes widened as the air seemed to warp around the family members.
Then it happened. One by one, they shifted. Fur sprouted along their skin, ears lengthened into sleek, pointed shapes, tails flicking behind them. Their human forms melted into giant feline figures—muscular, imposing, eyes glowing like molten gold. Lions, panthers, and other large cats prowled where men and women had sat moments before.
Diana froze, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. Her heart raced. The reality of this house—and the power it held—hit her in a single, overwhelming wave.
He didn't move. Not yet. His jaw tightened as anger rose inside him. He was the only one who hadn't shifted. And the sight of his family bickering in their full beast forms—claws clicking against the polished floor, tails lashing—made his temper flare.
Enough.
He rose from his chair, muscles coiling beneath his clothing. His voice cut through the room, low and lethal:
"Stop. Now!"
Every shifting beast froze, ears twitching, golden eyes snapping to him. The anger in his tone demanded obedience, and even in their immense feline forms, they obeyed. The room grew silent except for the soft hiss of fur against air and the quiet thud of claws.
He turned, gaze sweeping the hall, then softened slightly when it met Diana's. Not yet, he thought. She doesn't need to see this side of me—not yet.
Would she look down on him if she had? If she had seen the wild, powerful feline that lived inside him, would it frighten her—or make her lose respect? He didn't want to risk it. Not yet.
Instead, he let his human form remain, arms crossed, aura radiating authority. "This is my family," he said smoothly, his eyes dark and sharp. "And yes, they have power—but none of them touch what is mine. Diana is safe here. Understand?"
She nodded quickly, swallowing, trying to comprehend both the words and the magnitude of what she'd just witnessed. Her pulse pounded, a mixture of awe, fear, and—strangely—anticipation.
He gave her a small, unreadable nod, a promise and a warning all at once. The world she's entered isn't like the sanctuary. And he would make sure she knew it.