The Duke loses his patience

The storm came in without warning.

By late afternoon, rain hammered the windows of the study, turning the sky into a mass of rolling gray. Thunder cracked somewhere far off, and candlelight painted the room in warm gold. I was finishing a letter at my desk when Adrian’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Ren.”

I glanced up. He was standing by the window, one hand braced on the frame, staring out at the rain. His black coat hung loosely from his shoulders, and the way the light caught in his hair made him look almost unreal — like one of my drawings brought to life.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Come here.”

I set my pen down and crossed the room. The storm muffled the sound of my steps, making the space between us feel longer than it was. When I stopped beside him, he didn’t look at me — just at the rain.

“You’ve been restless lately,” he said quietly.

I blinked. “Restless?”

“You avoid my eyes when you speak. You excuse yourself from rooms too quickly. You linger near others when you think I’m not watching.” His gaze finally slid to mine, sharp as the crack of thunder. “Do you think I don’t notice?”

My chest tightened. “I—I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No?” His voice was low, almost gentle. “Then you won’t mind proving it.”

Before I could ask what he meant, his hand wrapped around my wrist — not hard, but firm enough that I knew I wasn’t pulling away. He guided me toward the center of the room, the faintest smile on his lips, like he was testing something.

“Stay still,” he murmured.

The storm outside seemed to fade under the weight of his presence. He reached up, brushing a lock of hair from my forehead with slow precision. His touch lingered, tracing the line of my jaw, his thumb ghosting over my cheek.

“You’re too easily distracted,” he said. “It makes me… impatient.”

The last word was breathed more than spoken, but it carried a weight that made my pulse spike.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I’ll—”

He cut me off by stepping closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. “You don’t need to apologize, Ren. You just need to remember who you belong to.”

Something in his tone made my stomach drop. “I—I belong to no one.”

That earned a quiet laugh — not amused, not kind. “Not yet.”

He let go of my wrist, but before relief could sink in, his hands rested on my shoulders, pushing me gently — deliberately — until my back met the wall. His gaze never left mine.

“You came here to work for me,” he said softly, “but you’ve become… more than that.”

My throat went dry. “What do you mean?”

His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing. “Do you want me to say it outright?”

I couldn’t speak.

The silence stretched. The only sounds were the storm outside and the steady, unhurried rhythm of his breathing. Then, suddenly, his hand was at my chin, tilting my face up to his.

“You’re mine, Ren,” he said. “Whether you’ve realized it yet or not.”

The words sank into me like hooks. He didn’t move closer, didn’t kiss me — but the intent in his gaze made my whole body feel pinned in place.

When he finally stepped back, the air between us felt thin, almost fragile.

“Go,” he said, turning back toward the window. “Before I change my mind and keep you here.”

I left the study on unsteady legs, my pulse still hammering in my ears. My plan had been to control the story.

But I was starting to think I wasn’t the one holding the pen anymore.

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