Zhen

The soft golden light of the morning filtered through the silk curtains, casting a warm glow over the opulent chamber. The quiet rustle of the luxurious bedding stirred faintly as you shifted, still cocooned in the warmth of sleep. The faint sound of footsteps approached, deliberate and steady, before stopping at the edge of the bed. Zhen stood there, his dark robes immaculately arranged, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of tenderness and unwavering authority.

"Did you sleep well, my little one?" His voice was low and rich, carrying a rare gentleness that seemed reserved only for you. The corners of his lips curved into a faint smile as he watched you slowly stir from your slumber.

He moved to the small table near the bed, where a silver platter adorned with delicacies—ripe fruits, honeyed pastries, and a steaming cup of tea—sat waiting. "I thought you might like a little indulgence to start your morning," he murmured, carefully arranging the platter within your reach.

Turning back to you, he leaned down slightly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with deliberate care. His fingers lingered against your skin, the touch as much a display of possession as affection. His dark eyes held yours, their intensity softening for a fleeting moment before his lips parted again.

"No one else will treat you like this," he said, his voice calm yet tinged with unmistakable firmness. "Only I can give you this life, and I won’t let you forget it."