My footsteps echo softly against the expensive marble floor of the Kael mansion.
The sound feels too loud in the quiet, as if the house itself is listening.
I hold the dark chocolate cake bag carefully in my hands.
This one… is for Angel.
In the novel, the author mentioned it only briefly—almost casually—but I remember. Angel likes sweets. Not in a greedy way. Not in a childish way.
He craves them.
Especially during his rut.
Angel has lived through too much. When his rut arrives, he doesn't seek comfort. He doesn't ask for help. He locks himself inside a cold, dark worker's apartment and waits it out alone. No suppressants. No warmth. No one beside him.
When his body burns for an alpha, he stays in the cold.
When he needs touch, he chooses darkness.
Because he doesn't want to owe anyone.
Because he doesn't want to be wanted only for his scent.
He is a rare omega.
And fate has been cruel to him.
That night—
The night everything broke—
Zyren found him in rut.
Only then did Zyren realize how beautiful Angel's pheromones were. How intoxicating they became when he was vulnerable. How breathtaking Angel looked when his body begged for an alpha.
Zyren was younger than Angel.
In the past… they were good friends.
Angel worked as Zyren's personal maid. He taught him things patiently—how to read expressions, how to behave, how to survive. Back then, everyone thought Zyren was an omega. He was beautiful. Soft. Innocent. Cute.
No one questioned it.
Until the day he turned thirteen.
The test changed everything.
D-class alpha.
From that moment, everything shifted. Friends distanced themselves. Family looked at him differently. Even his parents' eyes changed.
Everyone changed—
Except Angel.
Angel treated him the same as before. Still gentle. Still protective. Still precious.
And Zyren…
Returned that kindness with pain.
With suffering.
With chains.
My fingers tighten around the cake bag.
Zyren Kael did unforgivable things.
He hurt the one person who never abandoned him.
If someone treats you well—
You protect them.
You cherish them.
You love them.
You don't destroy them.
I keep walking, my chest heavy, eyes scanning the quiet halls.
Where is Angel…?
I turn to the maid beside me.
"Where is Angel?"
She bows lightly. "Young master… today his duty is to clean the backyard swimming pool."
My eyes widen.
"In this cold night?"
Her head lowers further, eyes trembling as she avoids my gaze. "Young master… you were the one who ordered him to do hard work tonight."
A sharp ache pulses in my temple. I rub it slowly, forcing myself to breathe.
"There's no need to follow my previous orders," I say, my voice firm, edged with command.
She flinches and nods quickly. "Yes, young master."
I don't wait. I turn and walk fast toward the back, my steps echoing sharply as urgency coils in my chest.
The moment I step outside, the cold night air slams into my skin.
Too cold.
My eyes search the wide backyard—then stop.
Angel.
He sits at the edge of the swimming pool, beautiful even in exhaustion. A mop clutched in his hands, he moves slowly, carefully, wiping the marble tiles as if trying to erase every speck of dirt. Water soaks his thin clothes, clinging to his body. His cheeks are flushed red, whether from cold or fever, I can't tell.
Weak.
Fragile.
Beautiful—like always.
He hasn't noticed me yet.
My heart tightens.
I've read these scenes. I've read about his suffering—how beautifully, cruelly the author described it.Even then, it made my heart ache.
But seeing it with my own eyes—
It feels like a knife sinking straight into my heart.
My angel…
I don't want to hurt you. Not even a little. I can't stand it.
I step forward quickly, set the cake gently on a nearby table, then shrug off my coat and drape it over his shoulders.
He flinches violently.
His head snaps up, fear flashing across his wide eyes.
"You're wearing such thin clothes," I say softly. "You'll catch a cold."
He stares at me in silence, shock written plainly on his face.
Frozen as if he can't understand what's happening.
I reach for his hand. "Stand up."
He jerks away immediately. His voice is low, trembling.
"Young master… my hands are dirty. Please don't touch me."
I look at his hands.
Cold.
Red.
Shaking.
He slowly rises to his feet, head lowered, shoulders stiff—whether from fear or the freezing air, I don't know.
"Let's go inside," I say.
I step forward.
He steps back at once.
"Young master… my duty isn't finished yet," he whispers. "I must complete this work."
My chest tightens painfully.
This isn't obedience.
This is fear carved too deep into his bones.
"Angel," I say quietly, "you don't need to finish this. Leave it. Let's go inside."
My voice soft almost innocent.
He freezes.
Slowly, he looks up at me. His eyes widen—pure disbelief flickering across his face—before he lowers his gaze again, confusion and shock tangling together.
Of course he doesn't believe me.
How could he? These words are coming from a villain who taught him cruelty. From someone whose softness was never real—until now.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself.
"Please," I say again, softer. "Let's go inside. I… I brought cake. We can eat together."
I point toward the table.
His eyes follow the motion despite himself.
The paper bag rests there quietly, harmless, like proof that this moment is real.
I lift my hand slowly—carefully—giving him time. This time, I don't rush. I don't grab.
I drape the coat again properly around his shoulders, shielding him from the cold, then gently take his hand.
"Let's go "
He doesn't pull away.
He doesn't speak.
He just follows.
We walk toward the mansion together, his hand still resting in mine. I pick up the cake bag with my free hand, warmth spreading softly through my chest.
"Angel," I say cheerfully, not turning back. "Do you like dark chocolate?"
There's a brief pause.
Then, almost too quiet to hear, he answers,
"Yes."
My smile widens before I can stop it.
"That's great."
We keep walking.
I know everyone hates this villain. Especially him. And maybe villain deserve it.
But I believe—even a villain can change.
And maybe…
small steps are enough to turn him into a good boy.