The following days at Countess Elizabeth's mansion dragged on like a perverse cycle, a routine that seemed to exist solely to test Ester's limits—as if every detail were designed to slowly erode her ironclad defenses.
Damon, now fully immersed in the household chores, moved through the hallways like an insolent shadow. In the mornings, he could be found in the courtyard, training in the pale sunlight, sweat dripping down his skin as his blades sliced the air with the precise savagery of a predator. Other times, he would appear lazily in the library, reclining in antique chairs, surrounded by books he barely seemed to be reading—but always with that air of someone who dominated the space, as if the mansion were his too.
Still, it wasn't the training or the discipline that brought her pleasure. What Damon enjoyed most, above all, was teasing her.
