"Master. You're going to call me that from now on."
The word echoed in her ears—sharp, absolute. Not barked like an order, not whispered like a plea. Spoken like a truth already known.
And yet, it stirred something in her chest far more powerful than any command he'd given before.
Elysia's breath hitched. Just slightly. Her lips parted as if to speak—but no sound came out.
She could hear her heartbeat. She could feel the weight of his gaze. And in the middle of it all… her thoughts scattered.
He had changed.
That was the simplest way to explain it. But nothing about Damien's transformation had been simple.
Three weeks ago, she wouldn't have hesitated to label him as nothing more than a wretched shell of nobility. A name with no substance. A man who reeked of indulgence and entitlement. She had seen him slumped over couches, stumbling through hallways, eyes glassy and words slurred with wine and apathy.
That Damien was not a master.
That Damien was a duty.
