Conceited Concubine

Samion

Always standing like a dark shadow at the end of the corridor, leaning against walls with that infuriating, unreadable expression—his sharp jaw set, arms crossed, eyes the color of storm clouds watching her like she was some puzzle he intended to solve.

Sarah hated it.

Not because she truly disliked him—but because every time he so much as looked her way, her pulse quickened and her mouth dried up.

So she did what any sensible woman would do. She ignored him.

Or at least, she tried to.

"Sarah," Samion's deep voice echoed down the corridor like a low growl.

She stiffened, quickening her pace.

"Sarah," he repeated, footsteps trailing behind her.

She spun around abruptly. "What?" she snapped—too loudly. A maid passing by shot her a curious glance, and Sarah's cheeks flamed.

Samion tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I only wanted to ask if you'd help me with something."