Emilia's Warm Solitude and Hudson's Unexpected Arrival

The air inside the house was comfortably warm, the heating system working its subtle magic, filling the space with a kind of quiet coziness. Emilia had just finished her bath, the sweet scent of soap still clinging to her skin like a soft whisper. She hadn't bothered with a robe; there was no need, not with the temperature so perfect. Instead, she had slipped into his shirt, the one that always smelled faintly of him—musky, strong, a scent that seemed to ground her in a way nothing else could.

It was absurd, really, how big that shirt was on her. The hem practically brushed the tops of her thighs, the sleeves long enough to hide her hands completely. In a sense, it wasn't just a shirt; it was more like a dress, a reminder of his size, his presence.

She padded barefoot through the house, moving softly, like a shadow in the warm glow of the lights. The house was quiet, too quiet—too empty without him in it. She searched for him, but there was no sign. The feeling of his strength, that indefinable aura he carried, was nowhere to be found.

Sighing, she made her way to the table. It was set for a meal, as always—both Chinese and Western dishes, neatly arranged. She hesitated only for a moment before sitting down and digging in, the hunger that had always gnawed at her returning full force. For years now, she had lived with an emptiness, a kind of half-satisfaction, where her body was always craving more. It was a strange feeling, like living in a constant state of wanting.

Her mind wandered as she ate, thoughts drifting like clouds. She looked at the food before her—generous portions of rice and noodles, succulent pieces of meat. How different things could have been, she mused.

It wasn't fair, not really. Why was she always so much smaller than the other girls? In a world where height and curves seemed to dictate value, she was just... average. At 158 cm, she was dwarfed by Hudson, who could pick her up effortlessly with one arm. He was massive—tall, broad, strong. Was she too small for him? She couldn't help but wonder sometimes, especially when he picked her up like that. Would he ever grow tired of her, of the smallness that defined her?

The thought made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

But no. Why should she worry about such things? He wasn't that kind of man, she reassured herself. As long as he didn't throw her away, as long as he didn't discard her like some unwanted thing, she would be grateful.

Yet, a strange ache tugged at her heart.

She wished, with all her might, that she were different. That she could stand taller, more impressive, more like the women he could easily have. At least she could look him in the eye without craning her neck, without feeling like a child standing next to a giant.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, sharp voice.

"Perper!"

She gasped, startled, almost losing her balance. The chair tipped dangerously, but before she could fall, a strong arm caught her, pulling her back into steadiness.

Hudson's voice, deep and curious, floated into her ears. "What's going on in that head of yours? You've been sighing and shaking your head like some lost soul."

"Nothing!" she blurted, her heart racing. She couldn't possibly tell him the truth—that she had been thinking about him, and how terribly inadequate she felt.

He seemed to look right through her, his eyes darkening as if a storm were brewing beneath the surface. Without a word, he lifted her, his expression shifting with sudden intensity.

"You're just wearing that shirt?" he growled, his gaze locking onto her as though he were sizing her up in a way that made her skin prickle.

"I'm not cold," she said, fumbling for something to explain herself, though it wasn't necessary. The warmth of the room had wrapped itself around her, and the air itself felt suffused with the quiet hum of heat.

But Hudson wasn't listening to logic. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as he seemed to consider her like a predator assessing its prey.

The shirt—his shirt—seemed to have an effect on him that Emilia didn't fully understand, and yet she felt it too, that strange, potent energy that seemed to surround them whenever they were close.

In one swift motion, Hudson removed his fur coat and wrapped it around her waist, hiding her legs from view. The gesture wasn't casual, it wasn't simply protective—it was possessive, too, like a silent claim.

Emilia's heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she felt something stir in her chest, something tender, something she wasn't ready to face. She had never known kindness like this. It made her ache in ways she couldn't explain.

She quickly looked away, panic rising in her throat. What if he found out the truth about her? The truth about how she had been cast aside by everyone, like an unwanted shadow? The truth about how her very presence seemed to bring bad luck, and how she had been blamed for the deaths of her parents?

The thought was enough to make her tremble. She dared not meet his eyes, terrified that if he knew the kind of cursed life she had lived, he might turn away from her, just like everyone else.

Hudson studied her closely, noticing the sudden fear in her eyes. She wasn't good at hiding it, not from him. She was like a delicate flower, still wilting in the shadow of her past.

He grunted, his expression softening for just a fraction of a second. "Stop looking like that," he muttered, his voice gruff. "I don't like it."

His tone wasn't harsh, but there was a sharpness in his words that made her flinch.

"Go to the living room," he ordered, his voice low and tight.

Emilia didn't argue. She just nodded, more out of instinct than anything else, and moved quickly, her bare feet padding against the floor as she obeyed.

Hudson watched her, eyes narrowed, but as she left the room, his hand clenched involuntarily. He hadn't intended for her to feel so... small, so fragile. But somehow, it was as though he couldn't help himself. The more he tried to be distant, the closer she seemed to get.

And that terrified him more than he cared to admit.

As the sound of her footsteps faded, Hudson stood there for a moment longer, grappling with emotions that didn't sit well in his chest. What was he even doing?

The door to the living room clicked open.

Emilia looked back at him once before stepping inside, her mind still clouded with confusion, with a longing that she couldn't put into words.

And in the silence that followed, Hudson's eyes, cold and calculating, glinted with something darker—something unspoken.