Even after I got out of the bath, Levi was still on his phone, pacing around the room. It was rare to see him this disheveled. To see him this visibly agitated, this… human, was strangely unsettling.

He was fully clothed, one hand held the phone pressed to his ear, the other raking distractedly through his dark hair. He seemed completely oblivious to my presence as he paced, his brow furrowed in intense concentration.

Then, a snatch of his conversation drifted my way, the words hitting me with the force of a physical blow. "What? So it is true then? She found five. But only one insemination actually worked."

The pieces clicked into place with terrifying speed. The late-night call, his unusual agitation, the fragmented words… Oh shit. Levi had become a father.

Shit. Fuck. Oh, God.

“Are you absolutely sure there is only one viable fetus?”

One viable fetus. Out of five attempts. Cybil succeeded. Cybil took his sperm while he was unconscious as a minor and kept it hidden for years, and he succeeded.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years of intricate maneuvering, of carefully laid plans for his future. And now, this. A wrench thrown into the meticulously crafted machinery. An heir. His heir. Conceived not through his will, not through a loving partnership, but through an act of violation and long-held deceit.

I was in utter shock and disgust, terror. Pure terror. Are there any words to console this man?

His voice, devoid of its usual inflection, was chillingly calm. "Okay, bring the woman. Persuade her, no error this time."

The old Levi, the master manipulator, had resurfaced, his focus immediately turning to control the situation, to eliminate the "obstacle" his carefully laid plans now faced. Shit, does he even need consolation? If it were anyone else, a stranger, I would cry for him. But he was so ruthlessly determined, simple words would sound like a mockery to him.

He turned his phone off and threw it onto the bed. He let out a deep sigh and muttered under his breath. “I need a drink, no sugar.”

It wasn't a request directed at me, but the vulnerability in that simple statement was palpable. He was self-soothing.

The words felt clumsy and inadequate the moment they left my lips. "Uhm… Sorry about, you know, having a… child completely out of your will… But… We can talk if you want to…"

"Sure," he said, his voice regaining a measure of its usual cool control. "You need to be informed on the matter too." He paused, a calculating glint in his eyes. "Lady Isolde's tea party was today, and one notable noblewoman didn't attend, apparently over 'unexpected health complications'. The woman's name is Lady Elira. To our deduction, she is further down the lineage, therefore she and I are not closely related."

His gaze flickered towards the minibar. "If she was closely related, I could use the possibility of severe disability or stillbirth as an excuse for abortion," he stated matter-of-factly, the words chillingly devoid of emotion. "But since she isn't closely related, it will take some... other measures."

“Wha- What other measures?” The casual cruelty in his tone, the cold calculation in his eyes, had sent a jolt of fear through me.

His lips curled into a dismissive smirk, a hint of his usual condescension returning. "Pulla, I've told you repeatedly, I am not a savage or a malicious barbarian." He paused, his gaze sharp and unwavering. "Everybody has their pressure points. Lady Elira, she is a timid and easily approachable woman. Possibly, a nice tea in the afternoon could solve our problem."

My voice rose slightly, fueled by a surge of protective anger for this unknown woman. "I am not letting you scare the shit out of that woman. Okay? Probably she didn't want that pregnancy either."

He raised a sardonic eyebrow, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Possibly," he conceded, his voice dangerously soft. "If she doesn't want this pregnancy, then there is nothing else to do, no? Wonders of modern medicine."

"Yeah, I know about your 'wonders of modern medicine' gimmick, rendering the King infertile. I am not letting you scare a woman into abortion."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, devoid of any real amusement. "My Pulla has unending empathy for humans. It is truly delightful," he remarked, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of mockery and something else I couldn't quite decipher. "But, do tell me, how are you going to stop me?"

The question hung in the air, a direct challenge. The smirk playing on his lips dared me to try, knowing full well the obstacles I faced. How could I stop him?

“I want to be there. Call her to our house. I am going to be there with you, in your ‘nice afternoon tea’.”

The childish gleam in his eyes was unsettling, a predator toying with its prey. "My Pulla, little foolish Pulla," he purred, the endearment dripping with condescension. "What are you really going to do? Nudge me into gentleness? Like your promise from before?"

I might not have his influence or his ruthlessness, but I had something he lacked: a conscience, and a stubborn refusal to stand by while he manipulated and potentially terrified a vulnerable woman.

"I don't know, okay?" I retorted, my voice shaking slightly but firm. "But I am not just going to stay silent while you toy around with that woman. A pregnant woman, even."

Levi's expression shifted, the amusement fading, replaced by a flicker of something darker, something wounded. "What about me then? Hm?" he countered, his voice low and dangerous. "That child was inseminated from my stolen sperm, when I was seventeen."

The raw pain in his voice was a sudden, unexpected blow. In my focus on protecting Lady Elira, I had momentarily overlooked the profound violation he had suffered.

“Your pain and the horrible abuse you suffered, don’t justify manipulating that woman.”

His past trauma explained his reaction, perhaps, but it didn't grant him the right to inflict fear and potential harm on someone else, especially someone in a vulnerable position.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

His gaze hardened again, the brief flicker of vulnerability extinguished. "What about the child?" he countered, his voice sharp. "If the child is a boy, he is going to suffer the same cycle. What about it?"

It was a grim possibility, and one that added another layer of complexity to the already fraught situation. His desire to prevent that potential suffering, however misguided his methods, held a certain tragic logic.

"I don't know," I admitted, the weight of his question settling heavily in the room. "We should think about the present first, instead of something that might happen years later. Also, we don't even know the gender of the baby."

His words were delivered with a quiet disappointment that somehow cut deeper than his anger. "You disappoint me, deeply, Pulla."

In his mind, perhaps, I should have understood his perspective, should have prioritized the potential future suffering of a hypothetical son over the immediate well-being of Lady Elira.

"Look," I said softly, breaking the tense silence. I walked over to him and gently took his arm, guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed. "I am horrified, disgusted beyond belief about what happened to you. I truly am. There is no justification or even an explanation for your mother's actions." My voice was sincere, wanting to bridge the gap that had widened between us. "And while it's true, I don't approve of your methods… given their nature… I'll get room service, and maybe we can drink some hot chocolate?"

A wry, almost weary smile touched his lips. "There is no way I am drinking some instant garbage made in a hotel kitchen in the middle of the night." He shook his head slightly, a hint of his usual fastidiousness returning. "We should go home."

He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at me. "And, about your little escapade, little Pulla," he continued, his voice gentler now. "If you don't want to be at that house, then don't be. We can move out."

"No, no," I said quickly, waving a dismissive hand. "We should stay. Considering everything happening around us, we shouldn't spend our energy over something like that."

After we went home, Levi’s confession of that night washed over me. I took some deep breaths to calm myself down as I watched Levi move with a focused energy in the kitchen. The clinking of mugs, the whir of the milk frother – domestic sounds that felt strangely surreal.

What a night. Revolution, sugar, and protected sex. Yes, that pretty much summed up the chaotic, intense, and utterly unforgettable night.

But I needed to leave for work in the morning. I couldn’t bear to hear Levi dropping another bomb on my lap like last time. Work, with its predictable routines and external demands, suddenly seemed like a welcome escape, a temporary reprieve from the turbulent waters of Levi's life.

"Levi, I am tired. I'm going to go to sleep," I announced, the exhaustion finally catching up to me.

He lifted his head from the counter, his expression genuinely bewildered. "You're not going to drink hot chocolate?"

A chuckle escaped my lips. "No," I said gently. "If I drink that now, I definitely won't be able to sleep. And I need to be up for work tomorrow."

After my response, I guess he felt utterly betrayed. He simply nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on the untouched mugs before turning back to his task, a quiet air of resignation settling around him.

Every single day with him was bombshell after bombshell. No wonder my body felt fatigued like getting hit by a truck. Also, half an hour ago he was pounding into me, fully in air.

...

I left for the set in the morning. First days of the set were completely chaotic since there wasn’t any carefully laid out plan or the sense of direction wasn’t constructed.

Cables snaked across the floor like unruly vines, crew members shouted questions across the soundstage, and the director seemed to be having a spirited debate with the cinematographer in a language I didn't understand. If Levi were here, I could practically hear his disdainful scoff. He'd likely survey the scene with a withering gaze before muttering something about "crushable bugs" and then, with a few sharp commands and perhaps a strategically raised eyebrow, somehow whip everyone into a semblance of order. He had that unnerving ability to take charge and impose his will, turning chaos into his own meticulously planned symphony.

Just as I took a step forward, a frantic voice yelled, "Where's the goddamn..." followed by a loud crash. A young production assistant, his face pale, was surrounded by shattered pieces of what looked like a prop vase. He looked utterly lost, and for a fleeting moment, I felt a pang of sympathy, a familiar echo of the emotional wreckage Levi often left in his wake, albeit on a much smaller scale.

While the scale was vastly different from the turmoil of my night with Levi, the raw distress on the young man's face sparked an immediate urge to help. I made my way towards him, weaving through the organized chaos and I talked to him.

“Sorry about that, I hit my elbow and the vase fell.”

The young man's eyes widened, not with panic this time, but with a surprised sort of awe. A slight blush crept up his neck. "Oh, Mr. Blake? You don't have to do that! It was totally my fault, I was rushing and-" He cut himself off, a nervous chuckle escaping him. "Wow, um... thank you. That's really... incredibly kind of you."

Before the young man could continue his flustered thanks, I raised my voice, cutting through the nearby chatter. "Hey, Mark!" I called out to the prop director. "I broke a vase. Send me the bill."

Mark turned, his eyes initially narrowed in annoyance at the disruption. But upon seeing me, his expression softened slightly, replaced by a weary resignation. "Ah, Mr. Blake. No worries, it happens. It wasn't one of the antiques, was it?" He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Just add it to the production damage report. Don't worry about the bill yourself." He gave a curt nod, already turning his attention back to another brewing crisis across the set.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Blake,” the production assistant thanked me again. There was a heat in my stomach, thinking a simple gesture, a moment of kindness can make someone this relieved and grateful.

As he went to gather the broken pieces of the vase, his eyes lingered on me. "Thank you again, Mr. Blake," he said, his voice slightly breathless. "You're... you're really kind." He paused, his cheeks flushing a bit. "Maybe... maybe I could get you a coffee sometime, to properly thank you?"

His flushed cheeks and the hopeful look in his eyes were unmistakable. A small smile touched my lips in return. "That's very kind of you," I replied, trying to keep my tone light and professional. "But honestly, don't worry about it. Just focus on getting through this crazy first day." I gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Maybe once things settle down a bit, we can all grab coffee."

Shit, what if Levi saw this man, obviously flirting with me? I never sensed jealousy from him, but he would find this very air-headed young man… annoying. My stomach clenched at the possibilities. Offering a quick, slightly flustered nod to the production assistant, I mumbled, "Right, well, I should... uh... go see what's happening over there." Without waiting for a response, I turned and practically scurried away. The broken vase and the young man's hopeful gaze receded behind me as I tried to blend into the the disorganized flurry of the film set, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention from a certain annoying, manipulative, bastardious lion.

Leaving the bustling studio, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the lot. The air outside felt almost serene compared to the controlled pandemonium within. I managed to get through my scenes, relying on instinct and the director's often-vague directions. By the time the call sheet for the next day was finally distributed, I was physically and mentally drained.

As I headed towards my car, a sleek, silver vehicle pulled up beside me. Holden. Levi's ever-present, unnervingly efficient secretary. He leaned over and opened the passenger door, a practiced, almost too-polite smile on his face. "Mr. Blake asked me to escort you to the afternoon tea," Holden stated, his tone smooth and devoid of any genuine warmth.

My stomach dropped. Afternoon tea. A knot of dread tightened in my chest. This wasn't just about a ride home; I was being summoned.

"Afternoon tea?" I echoed, trying to keep my voice neutral despite the sudden spike of anxiety. "Shit, it’s today?"

Holden's smile remained fixed. "Mr. Blake thought your presence would be… appreciated." His eyes held that same knowing glint, and I knew "appreciated" was a carefully chosen euphemism.