Sneaky fox

—Kyra—

The moment the cabin door clicked shut, Kyra's entire body tensed. She waited—counting Arman's retreating footsteps—before collapsing onto the bed with a shuddering exhale. His pillow still held the warmth of his head, and she buried her face in it, inhaling deeply.

Master.

Woodsmoke and steel. Winter pine and something darker—something that made her foxblood sing. Her claws extended involuntarily, shredding the sheets as an unfamiliar heat pooled low in her belly.

The wardrobe door creaked as she pawed it open. Neat stacks of clothing, all carrying his scent. But it was the black cotton briefs on top that made her mouth water. She pressed them to her face, tongue darting out to taste the faint musk still clinging to the fabric.

A moan escaped her lips as the heat between her thighs became unbearable. Her free hand slipped beneath her waistband, fingers finding slick evidence of her arousal. "A-ah...Master..." she whimpered, hips rocking against her own touch.

BANG.

The door flew open.

Kyra barely had time to drop the underwear before locking eyes with the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen—platinum hair in a military braid, ice-blue eyes widening in shock.

—Selvaria—

The scene hit Selvaria like a dagger between the ribs.

A foxgirl frozen mid-touch, lips swollen from biting them, pupils blown wide with need. The scent of arousal was so thick it nearly choked her.

"Disgusting," she spat, but the venom rang hollow. This wasn't just some casual indiscretion—this creature was drowning in his scent, in need of him. Just as she once had.

The foxgirl scrambled up, clutching Arman's coat like armor. "I-It's not what it looks like" she stammered, tail puffed in defiance.

Selvaria's perfectly manicured nails dug into her palms. Two weeks. Just two weeks since she'd ended things, since she'd let her father convince her the valcreth name was tainted after his mother's scandalous death. But the way her traitorous heart clenched at seeing evidence of his new life...

She just wanted him to think, to reconsider his ways and to maybe, just maybe go back to the way things where before… Not to just go straight to another woman as if she were nothing but a fling

Tears threatened to fall

Then Selvaria did something she'd never done in her life—she fled.

—Kyra—

Kyra's body moved before her mind caught up. She burst into the hallway just in time to see Selvaria's braid disappear around a corner.

"Wait!" The word tore from her throat unbidden. She didn't know why she was chasing—to apologize? To fight?—but her feet carried her forward anyway.

She rounded the corner and collided with solid muscle.

—Leon—

Leon caught the foxgirl by her slender shoulders, steadying her before she could fall. Up close, she was even more striking—golden eyes glazed with unshed tears, black-tipped ears flattened in distress. 

"Beautiful," he murmured before he could stop himself, thumb brushing the delicate fur of her ear. Then he saw it—the slave brand peeking from her sleeve. Rage ignited in his chest. "Who did this to you?"

She tried to pull away. "I belong to—"

"Let. Her. Go."

Kyra gasped—then bolted toward him like a frightened animal. She clung to Arman's side, trembling.

Leon's heart dropped. She was afraid… but she was running to him?

"Kyra. Here."

She obeyed instantly. Too instantly. Like a trained pet.

Leon felt his stomach twist again, but this time with fury. She shouldn't be with him. Not with someone like that.

"You collared her?" he asked, voice rising with disbelief. "She's not property, she's a person!"

Arman stroked her hair, fingers moving with infuriating tenderness. "Walk away, Leon."

Leon took a step forward, extending a hand toward her. "You don't have to go with him. Whatever he's done to you—this isn't love, it's control. You can come with me. I can protect you."

But Kyra didn't move. She didn't even look at him.

She just pressed herself tighter against Arman's side.

Leon froze. His hand hovered in the air, unwanted.

"…Why won't you take my hand?" he whispered, baffled.

Arman's reply was quiet. Certain. "Because she already chose."

Leon stared at them—Kyra, broken and trembling, clinging to the man he now knew was the enemy. Arman. The manipulator. The master.

Fine.

Let her stay for now.

But once they reached the Academy… things would change. He'd watch. He'd wait. He'd be patient.

And when the time came, he'd show her the truth. He'd pull her out of the dark, free her from whatever spell that bastard had cast over her. She'd thank him. She'd see him.

And Arman?

Arman would learn what happened when you played the villain in someone else's story.

—Selvaria—

Selvaria stared at her reflection in the lavatory mirror, the torn sleeve of her dress a physical manifestation of the rift in her carefully constructed world.

She'd been a fool. Arman hadn't changed—she had. Become colder. Harder. More like her father.

The foxgirl's devastated expression haunted her. That hadn't been lust in those golden eyes—it had been love. The kind she'd once shared with Arman under the moonlight.

Her fist connected with the mirror, shattering the glass. Blood dripped from her knuckles as she sank to the floor, the truth slicing deeper than any blade:

She'd made a mistake. And it might be too late to fix it.