Under the meticulous care of the Syndicate's staff—who treated him like a fragile idol—Damien finally made a full recovery.

Seeing the Sovereign restored to his usual, lethal vitality allowed a weight to lift from Mia's chest. However, Mia was still Mia; her mind was a tapestry of fine detail, and there was one matter she refused to let go. She chose her moment carefully. On the morning of her birthday, while lying in the warmth of his arms, she made a request.

"Hmm?"

Damien woke instantly, his senses sharpened by the sound of her voice in the quiet of the dawn.

"You want to invite Julian to dinner today?"

"Yes," she nodded, coiling closer into the hollow of his shoulder. "I want to host a dinner for him. I thought we could have him over to the estate... just for today."

Damien Lancaster, a man who had never known what it felt like to be secondary or ignored, felt his "master's" temper flare with magnificent elegance. He flipped over in a single, fluid motion, pinning her against the silk sheets. He looked down at her, his pale gray eyes unreadable and heavy with a dark, possessive intent.

"...And why, exactly, should I invite Julian to your birthday dinner?"

Mia, who was often a total failure at deciphering the lethal subtext of his warnings, remained focused on her own internal sense of harmony. "Because it's today. The atmosphere would be... appropriate."

Appropriate? Damien thought. Like hell it would.

"No," he said, his voice dropping into a flat, non-negotiable register.

Mia was stunned. She looked up at him, her gray eyes wide. "Why not?"

He didn't need a reason. His "no" was law. But seeing the genuine confusion on her face, he tossed out the first excuse his mind could manufacture. "Julian isn't starving. He can find his own dinner."

Why should he come here and take a single second of your attention away from me?

Mia let out a soft laugh, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. She began to coax the monster with a saint's patience. "I feel terrible about what happened. I dragged him into our mess that night... and instead of blaming me, he comforted me. By any code of conduct, I owe Julian a proper thank you."

After a long session of Mia's "soft" persuasion, Damien eventually gave in with a languorous, resigned cooperation.

By noon, he was driving her to Julian's residence.

As soon as they stepped out of the car, a series of blood-curdling wails erupted from Julian's living room. The sound was staggering—a mix of ghostly shrieks and wolf-howls with a volume sufficient to shake the soul.

Mia froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. Was it a robbery? Was the house under fire? Was a war breaking out inside?

Damien, standing beside her, heard the commotion and instantly began to laugh. He slid an arm around Mia's waist, pulling her flush against his side. His expression was one of pure, dark amusement.

"Consider yourself lucky," he murmured into her ear. "Today, you get to witness a side of Julian that only surfaces once a century. His dark side."

They reached the doorway, and Mia was instantly paralyzed by the scene in the parlor.

Kitten.

She was currently... being thrashed.

Only one man in the world was brave enough—and capable enough—to lay a hand on Catherine Winters, and that was Julian.

Mia had always believed that if a husband and wife reached the point of physical discipline, there was a fundamental failure in the marriage. But in this heartbeat, her entire Cambridge-bred worldview was under a terminal siege.

The reason for the punishment lay in Kitten's refusal to reform her "thieving" ways. Time and again, before heading out for her undercover "ambush" reporting, she had pilfered Julian's private collection—snatching priceless jewelry and antiques from his vault to use as bribes in case she was caught by the authorities.

But as the saying goes, you can hide for a day, but you can't hide forever.

Having returned from her latest assignment, the little reporter had finally been caught red-handed. Julian hadn't bothered with an argument. He had simply snatched her by the collar, hauled her onto the sofa, and—pinning her thrashing body down—delivered a relentless beating to her backside.

At the start of the thrashing, Kitten held onto a sliver of hope. She didn't cry or make a scene, figuring he wouldn't last long. There is, after all, honor among thieves; she had been caught red-handed, so as far as she was concerned, she had it coming.

But very quickly, she realized she had miscalculated.

There is a universal truth in this world: the gentler a man is by nature, the more demonic his aura becomes once he goes dark. Julian was the textbook definition of that rule. Usually, he left Kitten to her own devices, but today the mines she had been treading on for years finally detonated. He was truly, deeply committed to this punishment.

Kitten finally felt a surge of genuine fear. My God, at this rate, he's going to kill me!

It couldn't be denied that over the last few years, she had been pampered and indulged to the point that her skin had grown soft. To be suddenly dragged from a life of luxury back into the dark ages of "slave labor" was more than her nerves could handle.

She finally began to wail.

It was a world-ending, soul-shattering cry, the kind that could make the heavens weep and the most beautiful women in the palace lose their color.

Julian, however, remained entirely "blackened," his expression cold and unyielding. "Shut up! No crying!"

Just as he raised his hand to deliver another heavy strike, the household staff rushed in, forming a protective circle around them.

The butler pleaded, "Master Julian, she's still so young! If you keep hitting her like this, you'll break her..."

The gardener added, "Her rebellious phase just arrived a bit late. To use corporal punishment now is just too cruel..."

The chef chimed in, "She's already as wilted as a cabbage leaf just looking at you. She has no family to turn to; if you keep this up, she'll be too pitiful..."

Mia watched from the doorway, her legs feeling like lead. She had been so stunned by the scene that she had forgotten to step in and pull Julian away. Finally finding her voice, she let out a soft, "Wait—"