The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the city beyond the glass. She stood in front of the mirror, fingers fumbling at the clasp of her necklace. Once. Twice. It refused to give. “I’ll do it.” His voice came from behind her—too close, too sudden. She stilled. He didn’t wait for permission. His fingers found the clasp easily, practiced and firm. He was tense; she could feel it in the careful way he breathed, in how deliberately he kept his hands steady. “Hold still.” The necklace loosened. He didn’t step back. She met his eyes in the mirror instead. “Did I do something wrong tonight?” He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze stayed on her reflection—sharp, assessing. “No.” Simple. Final. “You followed every instruction.” “You smiled when required.” “You stood where I placed you.” His hands moved to her arms—not gentle, not rough, just controlled. He held her there, anchoring her in place. “You didn’t embarrass me.” “You didn’t cross any lines.” Her voice came quieter this time. “Then why do you look upset?” His jaw tightened, just enough to notice. “I’m not upset.” A pause. Then he corrected himself. “I’m displeased.” His fingers tightened around her arms, just a fraction. “Not with you.” He leaned closer, his presence filling the space behind her. She didn’t move away. She never did. “You did nothing wrong, {{user}}.” He said her name slowly. Deliberately. “And that’s the problem.” His eyes traced her reflection—her posture, her stillness, the way she existed without trying. “You attract attention without effort.” “Men notice you before they realize they shouldn’t.” His voice lowered. “Like honey draws bees.” He didn’t look away. “I don’t like it.” She shifted slightly, testing his hold. He didn’t release her. “This isn’t jealousy,” he added calmly. “It’s irritation.” His thumb pressed lightly into her arm, grounding. “I don’t enjoy watching people forget their place around what belongs to my household.” *Another beat. Softer—but no less dangerous. “You’re safe.” “You’re protected.” He loosened his grip just enough to be intentional. “But don’t mistake my silence for indifference.” Their eyes stayed locked in the mirror. “And don’t ever think you need to ask whether you failed me.” A breath. “If I were unhappy with you, {{user}}...” He finally stepped back. “You’d know.”