The Knock That Shouldn’t Have Happened
His upper body remained fully exposed—toned, defined, still holding the heat of the bath. Drops of water slid down his shoulders and spine, gathering briefly before falling to the floor. His wet hair clung to his neck in loose dark strands. A towel rested around his waist, low enough to show the carved lines of his hips, and another towel hung across the back of his neck as he dried his hair lazily.
The room was quiet... until—
Knock. Knock.
Leon stopped mid-motion.
His head tilted, eyes narrowing slightly. Breath softened into silence.
A mont later, two more knocks ca—gentler this ti, almost hesitant.
He stepped forward, towel shifting slightly around his waist as he moved across the polished floor. The knock wasn’t urgent... but it carried a tremble underneath, like whoever stood outside fought with themselves before raising their hand.
He reached the door, hand brushing the handle—
And before he even pulled it open, the door clicked, pushed slightly inward from the outside.
A small gasp slipped through the gap.
"Ah—sire? I—I didn’t get any reply, so... I thought... I should check. Sorry—really sorry, sire, I..."
Her voice stumbled all over itself, nervous and apologetic, but trying so hard to finish her sentence properly.
Leon pulled the door open the rest of the way.
The maid froze.
She had short black hair that curled slightly at the ends, a small heart-shaped face, soft black eyes that widened the second she realized exactly what she was looking at. Her lips parted, breath caught in her throat. She wore the standard manor maid uniform—except this one fitted her body a little too well.
A black dress, short enough to show the full shape of her thighs. A tight corset that hugged her waist and pushed her chest up. A pair of stockings that highlighted her legs. And her curves... gods, she had curves—big breasts pressing against the fabric, wide hips, thick thighs, everything sculpted in a way that made the uniform look intentionally sinful on her.
She pushed the small trolley of food inside, but her attention never truly left him.
Her eyes didn’t just look—they drank him in.
The sight of his half-naked body, the towel low on his hips, the droplets sliding over his abs—her gaze tracked every detail with helpless fascination. Her breath hitched. Her knees seed to wobble just a little. Her eyes softened, darkened, widened—like instinct tried to override her training.
Leon caught it imdiately.
His eyebrow lifted, a slow, amused motion.
"Should I stand still for you?" he asked quietly, voice carrying a lazy heat. "Or have you stared enough already?"
Her eyes snapped up, panic and desire crashing together.
"I—no—I an—sire—I didn’t—"
"You sure?" Leon stepped closer, just one step, but the effect was imdiate. Her grip tightened on the trolley handle. Her cheeks exploded into red. "Because if you haven’t had enough, I can stand here longer. Or," he lowered his voice, "you can stay while I change."
Her jaw dropped.
A tiny, choked sound escaped her throat.
He watched the battle inside her eyes—sha crashing against a very real spark she was trying to bury. His presence was overwhelming, intoxicating to her. She stared at his chest for half a heartbeat too long before she rembered to breathe.
"S-sire..." she whispered, voice trembling. "If... if you... I an—if you want to... if you w-want to see—"
Leon blinked.
Even he didn’t expect that.
"What?" he breathed.
Her own eyes snapped wide as if she finally realized what she had just said out loud.
"I—I ant— I an— I didn’t an it like that!" she blurted out, bowing so fast she nearly hit her head on the trolley. "I’m sorry! Please forget I said anything! I just— I’ll leave— I’ll leave right now—"
She grabbed the trolley’s edge again, bowing so deeply she almost disappeared behind it.
"Please eat your food, sire! I’ll co back for the tray later! I promise—sorry!!"
Then—
She bolted.
Not walked.
Not calmly retreated.
She ran—darting out of the room like a terrified deer who accidentally walked into a lion’s den and only realized it at the last possible second.
Leon stared at the now-empty doorway for a long, stunned mont.
His hand lifted to his face.
"...What the hell just happened?" he murmured.
He really thought she was about to step into the room, let him pull her by the waist, and end up pressed against the bed within seconds. The way she looked at him—gods, she wasn’t hiding anything. But the mont she realized she was losing control, she escaped like her life depended on it.
He shook his head, letting a slow smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
"Cute," he muttered.
He shut the door, turning away as the faint sll of warm food filled the room.
His steps carried him toward the wardrobe on the opposite side. The doors swung open, revealing rows of fresh clothes Alina had arranged for him—simple, regal, comfortable. Shirts made of fine fabric that felt light against the skin. Loose trousers perfect for evening wear. A long robe in white and gold. A simple black shirt with a slight v-cut. Nightwear folded neatly in the bottom drawer.
Leon searched silently, fingers brushing over the fabrics until he picked a pair of comfortable slim trousers and a black shirt that felt cool to the touch.
He tossed the towel aside and began dressing.
The shirt slid over his shoulders, hugging the shape of his chest. The trousers fit perfectly at his hips, falling straight along his legs. Simple attire—but it looked good on him. It always did.
He stood there in front of the wardrobe mirror for a mont, fingers brushing through his now-drying hair. His reflection stared back—a man who looked like he belonged in a king’s portrait, not casually adjusting his shirt after scaring a maid half to death.
A faint knock echoed from the hallway again—distant, not on his door.
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