Her breath hitched—just barely. Not enough to be noticed, not enough to break the rigid discipline that had been ingrained into her since childhood. But still… it happened.

This wasn't right.

The man before her—the man who should have been a bloated wreck sprawled across his bed, reeking of sweat and indulgence—stood in front of her, freshly washed, wrapped in a silk gown that hung loosely from his broad shoulders.

His black hair, damp and unkempt, clung to his forehead, dark strands dripping onto the fabric. The water ran in slow rivulets down his skin, soaking into the thin material of the robe, making parts of it cling to his flesh.

And his eyes—

Blue. Piercing.

Looking straight into hers.

"Didn't I tell you not to enter the room?"

His voice carried no drunken slur. No sluggishness. No irritation twisted by arrogance and self-importance.

It was steady.

Low.

And for some reason, it echoed in her head longer than it should have.

Elysia didn't move. Didn't shift. But her awakened senses—sharp, precise, honed through years of training—picked up everything at once.

The air was thick with steam, laced with the crisp scent of soap and warm water.

'He took a shower?'

Her disbelief was immediate.

Damien Elford never cleaned himself. Not properly. If he ever smelled remotely tolerable, it was only because the maids forced him into fresh clothes and doused him in expensive cologne before he went out to indulge in whatever excess filled his nights.

But this?

This was different.

And then, as her gaze swept the room, she noticed it.

A detail so small—so utterly absurd—that her mind almost rejected it outright.

Stray hairs.

Scattered across the bathroom tiles.

Not just a few. Not the light dusting of facial hair from a careless shave.

No.

Too much.

Far too much.

Her sharp green eyes locked onto him again, this time trailing downward, scanning, assessing.

His body—still large, still heavy with the weight of years of indulgence—was no longer hidden beneath a layer of unkempt, untamed hair.

His chest. His stomach. The thick arms that had once been covered in coarse strands—

Smooth.

Clean.

Her mind caught up with the realization before she could stop it.

'No way…'

She knew this body. She had tended to it before, wiped his face when he was too intoxicated to lift his head, helped maids dress him when he was too far gone to function.

She knew the way his flesh folded, the way his weight settled into the expensive furniture he never appreciated. She knew the rough texture of his skin, the way the body hair had once curled across his chest and stomach.

And now—

Gone.

He had shaved.

Not just his face.

Everything.

A sudden, unfamiliar sensation crawled down her spine, something foreign, something she did not like.

This was not Damien Elford.

Not the one she knew.

"Elysia."

His voice cut through her thoughts again, firm, steady.

She looked up.

He was smirking.

Not the lazy, self-satisfied grin of a man who had just drowned himself in vices.

No.

This smirk was different.

Amused. Calculated. Almost… sharp.

"Hey… Elysia. I'm calling you."

For the first time in years—

She didn't know how to respond.

She felt strange.

Did he change?

She had just seen him stumble through the grand halls, but something had been… off.

He hadn't been rambling or laughing like he usually did. He hadn't thrown his weight onto any of the maids, leering with that drunken self-importance.

He had been silent.

Still.

His movements had been controlled, careful, calculated in a way that sent a rare flicker of unease down her spine.

And now, standing here, looking at the man who was supposed to be Damien Elford…

She felt it again.

Something was wrong.

This wasn't hesitation. This wasn't fear.

It was something far worse.

Uncertainty.

She had always known her place in the household. She had always understood her role, her responsibilities, the expectations placed upon her.

And she had always known exactly what kind of man Damien Elford was.

Yet now, looking at him—

She wasn't sure anymore.

She forced her thoughts back into order, locking away the disquiet that had crept into her mind. It was unprofessional. Unacceptable.

This was still Damien Elford.

Even if something was wrong.

Even if everything was wrong.

"I knocked," she finally stated, her voice as cold and detached as ever. "Twice. You did not answer."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

"Ahahaha…"

A low chuckle spilled from Damien's lips, quiet at first, then growing, building into something unsettling.

Elysia did not react, but she observed.

The way his shoulders shook slightly. The way amusement flickered in his sharp blue eyes—bright, clear, untouched by intoxication.

There was no reason to laugh.

So why was he laughing?

She did not understand.

And then—

"If that's the case," Damien murmured, his smirk widening, "then don't fucking enter."

His words, though casual in tone, were sharp. Cold. Blunt.

A command, yet… something more.

Something deeper.

"Isn't this how it works?" he continued, tilting his head slightly. "If you knock on a door and don't get a response, that means you are not allowed to fucking enter. Isn't that right, Elysia?"

She felt it then.

A slow, foreign sensation that curled at the base of her spine.

It wasn't fear.

It wasn't unease.

It was something else.

Something she did not like. Uploaded by the M|V|L(EMPYR) team.

Because for the first time, standing before this man—this version of him—

She felt like she was facing someone she did not know.

Because the Damien Elford she had served for years…

He would never have spoken to her like this.

Damien tilted his head slightly, his sharp blue eyes never leaving her. Then, his smirk widened.

His next words dripped with amusement.

"Is something the matter?" He raised a brow. "Cat got your tongue, Elysia?"

She did not answer.

She did not move.

Yet her mind was racing.

His voice was smooth—controlled. There was no sluggish drawl, no lazy arrogance, no drunken haze. It was calculated. Intentionally sharp.

Different.

"Or…" His gaze flickered with something unreadable. "Are you perhaps wondering—who is this person?"

Elysia stiffened.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible. A barely noticeable shift in her stance, the smallest flicker in her green eyes. But to someone watching her closely—someone like him—it was enough.

His smirk deepened.

"You did."

Her breath caught.

For the first time in years, she felt a split second of hesitation.

Had she made it that obvious?

Had he read her so easily?

Damien let out a soft chuckle, his damp hair falling over his forehead as he leaned ever so slightly forward.

"Is this the same young master I knew?" He mimicked her thoughts as if plucking them straight from her mind. "You're probably thinking something like that, aren't you?"

Elysia didn't respond.

She couldn't.

Because he was right.

And then—

"The answer is yes," Damien murmured, his smirk curling at the edges. "I am Damien Elford."

His blue eyes gleamed, cold yet alive with something almost wicked.

"Though…" He exhaled, running a lazy hand through his wet hair. "The Damien who no longer bothers to put up a facade."