The great hall had gone silent.
Only the faint echo of footsteps and the fading notes of the string quartet lingered in the air as Diana and her master—her partner—walked down the corridor toward his private wing. The golden lights along the marble walls shimmered against their reflection, painting their silhouettes side by side.
She still held her breath.
The sound of laughter, whispers, and judgment from the guests echoed faintly in her mind. Her fingers trembled, though she tried to hide it by clutching the edge of her gown.
"You did well," he said finally, voice calm but laced with a rough edge, the kind that carried both authority and something close to pride.
Diana glanced at him, uncertain. "I didn't say much."
He looked down at her. "Sometimes silence says more. You stood your ground even when they wanted to see you bow."
His tone made her heart flutter. "Was I… what you expected?"
He stopped before his office door, turning just enough for the chandelier light to frame his sharp jaw and the faint smirk on his lips. "No," he said simply. "You were better."
He opened the door, motioning her in. The room was dim, filled with the scent of cedar and ink. Books lined the walls, and a single decanter of amber liquid sat half-empty on the desk. The tension that had hovered through the night began to ease, replaced by the low hum of quiet between them.
She moved toward the window, resting her hand against the cool glass. Outside, the gardens glowed faintly in moonlight.
"I didn't know there were so many kinds of beastmen," she said softly. "It felt like looking into another world."
"It is another world," he replied, pouring himself a drink. "The sanctuaries only tell you what keeps you obedient. They don't want you curious."
She turned, her eyes catching his in the soft light. "Then maybe… you can teach me what's real."
He stilled. The glass paused in his hand. For a long moment, he just watched her—the way she stood there, fragile yet unafraid, wanting to understand instead of hide. Then, quietly, he set the glass down.
"You really want to learn?"
"Yes."
Something shifted in his expression. He crossed the room, every step deliberate. When he reached her, he didn't touch her, not yet. His presence was enough—a quiet, unspoken power. "Then I'll show you," he murmured. "Not as my servant. As my partner. You'll see what others won't."
Her breath caught. "Why me?"
His gaze softened for the briefest moment, though his words stayed guarded. "Because you look at us—and you don't flinch."
They stood there in silence, the moonlight painting silver across the floor between them. The tension that had followed them all evening melted into something warmer, quieter, almost tender.
"Tomorrow," he said at last, stepping back, "you'll start learning the ways of this house. The people, the land, the business that keeps it alive. If you're to stand beside me, you'll need to understand more than just etiquette."
She nodded slowly. "Then I'll learn. Whatever it takes."
He turned away before she could see the faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Good. Then go rest. You've done enough for one night."
But as she reached the door, she hesitated. "You said… partner. You meant that?"
He looked at her over his shoulder, eyes half-shadowed by the dim light. "Yes," he said quietly. "But don't make me regret it."
Diana smiled faintly. "Then don't make me afraid of it."
He blinked once, then chuckled under his breath—low, deep, genuine. "You're trouble," he murmured, but there was warmth in it now.
When she left the room, her heart was still racing, though for the first time since the sanctuary, it wasn't from fear.
It was something else entirely—something alive.
Morning light spilled through the tall windows, golden and soft, catching the dust in slow motion.
Diana stood at the long table in the library, her hands hovering over stacks of documents, maps, and charts. Everything felt new—the scent of ink, the crisp feel of parchment beneath her fingers, the murmur of servants beyond the door.
Across from her, he leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed, watching her silently as she studied the sheet he had just handed her.
"This," he said, his tone measured, "is the map of our trade routes. The goods, the land, the resources. You should know where the power flows—money and loyalty go together."
She traced a line with her fingertip. "And these markings?"
"Territories," he replied. "Each belonging to a beastman family. Some are allies, some rivals. Most tolerate one another because we have to."
Her brows furrowed. "And humans?"
He gave a small, dry laugh. "Humans run markets. We run the land."
It took her a moment to process it. In the sanctuary, they were never told such things—only that "the world outside" was too dangerous for them. Yet here she stood, being taught the very structure of that world.
"I never thought I'd see this," she whispered.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her expression. "You learn fast. That's… unusual."
She looked up, meeting his gaze. "Maybe I was never meant to stay locked away."
His lips curved slightly, almost proud. "Maybe not."
But the peace between them didn't last.
The heavy double doors burst open, and the quiet library filled with voices—sharp, cold, disapproving.
His father entered first, tall and imposing, his silver hair tied back, followed by two of his sisters, their expressions tight with disdain.
"So it's true," his father said, stepping forward. "You're teaching a sanctuary female the affairs of the house now?"
Diana froze, clutching the papers in her hands.
He straightened, his calm shifting into something steel-like. "She needs to understand this world. If she's to live here, she will not be ignorant."
The eldest sister scoffed. "Ignorance is what keeps them obedient. She's not one of us. She's meant for breeding, nothing more."
The words struck like a slap.
Diana felt her stomach twist, her chest tightening. She didn't dare speak—but she didn't lower her head, either.
He noticed.
He always noticed.
"Enough," his voice cut through the room, low and dangerous. "You will not speak of her that way."
The father's eyes narrowed. "You've grown soft. Do not forget what she is. The sanctuaries breed them for our survival, not their freedom. Do not make the mistake your mother did—falling for something beneath your blood."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Diana's pulse hammered in her ears.
He stepped forward, every movement measured and sharp. "You talk of blood, father, but you forget what keeps it alive—will. And she has more of it than most I've met."
The father's jaw clenched. "You defy your own kind for one of them?"
He held his father's gaze. "I protect what's mine."
The older man's eyes flashed, beastlike for a moment before he turned and stormed out. The sisters followed, murmuring disapproval under their breath.
When the doors finally closed, silence returned.
Diana stood still, unsure if she should thank him, apologize, or say nothing at all.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "You'll have to get used to that. They won't stop."
Her voice was soft. "They think I'm just… a tool."
He looked at her, eyes dark but gentler now. "Let them think what they want. You're still standing, aren't you?"
She nodded slowly. "Because you taught me to."
For a moment, his expression softened in a way she hadn't seen before—no command, no walls, just quiet admiration. "You surprise me, Diana."
She smiled faintly. "You said I was supposed to."
He chuckled under his breath and turned away, but not before she caught the small, genuine curve of his lips.
As she gathered the papers again, her eyes flicked to the window where sunlight spilled across the table.
They would never see her as equal. But maybe, just maybe, she could make her own place in this world—right beside him.
And he, despite everything he was raised to believe, had already started treating her like someone who belonged.
That night, after the party, the mansion was too quiet. She couldn't sleep — the words "just for breeding" still echoed in her head. The air was heavy with perfume and secrets. From the corridor below, muffled voices rose — men talking in low tones. She moved closer to the door, barely breathing.
> "She's a distraction," one voice said — older, colder. His father.
"You'll have her removed by dawn. Quietly."
Her blood froze. The sound of boots moving. Orders being given.
But before she could retreat, a shadow appeared behind her.
He was there. Her protector. His eyes, dark and wild — he had heard everything too.
"Get inside," he whispered, his tone sharp as a blade.
Then chaos broke loose.
A crash, a roar — not human. The sound shook the walls. Guards stormed the corridor, but they didn't stand a chance. The black panther burst through them like a storm, claws gleaming, eyes burning with fury. She caught glimpses of fur, blood, flashes of gold as he shielded her with his entire body.
> "You will not touch her," his voice thundered — half-human, half-beast — echoing through the halls.
"She's mine. And if you ever lay a hand on her again… you'll answer to me."
When the last threat fell silent, he stood there, trembling, still half-shifted — breathing hard. She reached for him despite the claws, resting her palm on his fur.
He closed his eyes, shaking, as if her touch reminded him he was still human.
The family's crest above the door cracked, one piece falling to the ground.
It felt symbolic — something old had just been broken forever.