"Like what you see, my dear maid?"
She froze.
Not from fear.
Not this time.
But because… it wasn't what she remembered.
Elysia stared—still kneeling, still wide-eyed—as the full weight of him stood before her, hard and proud and… larger. She remembered it, vaguely, from her earlier days in the manor—accidental glimpses in drunken corridors, back when he'd stumble half-dressed from bath to bedroom without shame or awareness. It had never looked like this.
Not this solid. Not this heavy.
Not this imposing.
She blinked, mouth parted.
Damien saw it. And he smirked.
"Losing weight," he said with a soft laugh, "is good for all kinds of things."
And then—he stepped closer.
Guided her wrists gently, wrapping her fingers around him with deliberate care.
"Here," he murmured, voice dropping lower. "Touch it."
She did.
