Elias remained standing long after Reginald had left, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The silence in the room felt almost oppressive, but his thoughts were louder.
Reginald hadn't mocked him.
Not even once.
Usually, the older man would have some scathing remark—about his weakness, his lack of use, the disgrace of an Omega being anywhere near Cassius for longer than a night.
But today, there had been nothing. Just instructions, efficiency, and an unsettling neutrality.
Elias frowned. Had something changed?
Was it because Cassius had brought him here himself? Because he had carried him through the halls for all the guards and servants to see?
Elias's stomach twisted at the thought. His position here had never been strong, but now, it felt even more precarious.
What did they see when they looked at him?
A favored plaything? A broken Omega?
Or something worse—someone who had overstayed his welcome?
He ran a shaky hand through his hair, exhaling. No. Thinking like this won't help.
Right now, he had no choice but to follow along.
His new "job" began tomorrow. His image would be altered to fit Cassius's standards. He would be expected to serve and accompany him.
He had no idea what Cassius truly intended for him… but one thing was certain.
He wasn't leaving this place anytime soon.
The next morning came faster than Elias would have liked. Despite resting, his body still ached from exhaustion, but he forced himself up when Reginald arrived with a fresh set of clothes.
"The barber is waiting," Reginald informed him curtly before stepping aside.
Elias hesitated. He had never been groomed professionally before—most of his past haircuts had been done by himself or with dull scissors from the servants' quarters.
Still, he had no choice but to follow.
The barber was already inside a small grooming chamber attached to the main hall. The moment Elias stepped in, he was greeted by a warm, booming voice.
"Ah, there you are! Come, sit, sit!"
The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and had a full mustache that twitched with every movement of his mouth. His accent was thick, unmistakably German, and his smile was nothing short of genuine.
Elias hesitated before cautiously lowering himself onto the chair.
"You look nervous," the barber chuckled as he adjusted the cloth around Elias's shoulders. "Relax, young man. A good haircut should be enjoyed, not feared!"
Elias swallowed. He had never been spoken to like this before. Not by someone who didn't already have some hidden motive.
The barber hummed as he combed through Elias's uneven strands. "Hoo, this is a mess. But don't worry, I will fix it. Make you look your best, ja?"
Elias only nodded, unsure how to respond.
Then the snipping began.
Unlike the harsh, careless cuts he had given himself in the past, the barber worked with precision, taking his time to shape Elias's hair properly. The movements were firm yet careful, ensuring every strand fell in place.
The man continued talking throughout the process, telling stories of his homeland, of the people he had met, of how hair could change a man's entire presence.
And when he was finally done, he stepped back with a satisfied grin.
"There! Now look at yourself."
Elias turned hesitantly toward the mirror.
His breath caught.
The transformation was striking.
His hair, once uneven and messy, was now neatly trimmed, styled in a way that framed his face perfectly. The cut revealed the sharpness of his features—his high cheekbones, his defined jawline, the quiet intensity of his eyes.
For the first time in a long while, he looked… like someone important.
"Handsome, ja?" The barber clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "I knew there was a fine young man under all that mess!"
Elias didn't know what to say. He had never thought of himself as handsome. He had spent so long being overlooked, treated as disposable.
But this—this was different, he looked respectable.
Elias walked down the hall, his new attire fitting snugly against his frame. The fine fabric was unlike anything he had ever worn—smooth, tailored, and undeniably noble in appearance.
Each step he took, he could feel the weight of eyes on him.
Servants who once overlooked him now paused, whispering amongst themselves as he passed.
He could hear it in their murmurs.
"Who is he?"
"Was he always this striking?"
"Is he a noble?"
The transformation was almost unsettling. Elias had spent years being invisible, just another lowly servant, but now, with a proper haircut and well-fitted clothes, they were looking at him differently. As if he had always belonged among the elite.
But he wasn't one of them.
And he was about to be reminded of that fact the moment he stepped into Cassius's study.
The doors opened with a heavy creak, and Elias was led inside. Cassius sat behind his grand desk, reviewing documents, his golden eyes barely lifting as Elias entered.
But the moment he did, something shifted.
The air in the room grew tense.
Though Cassius's mask concealed most of his face, Elias saw it—the faintest hesitation in his movement, the slight pause in the way he held his pen. It was a flicker of emotion so subtle, so brief, that anyone else might have missed it.
But Elias saw it.
Cassius had not expected this.
His blue eyes sharpened, scanning Elias from head to toe, taking in every detail. The finely pressed vest, the crisp collar, the way the new haircut revealed the sharp angles of his face.
Elias could feel the intensity of his stare, but he stood firm, his posture straight despite the slight unease creeping up his spine.
Cassius leaned back in his chair, tapping a single gloved finger against the armrest. When he finally spoke, his voice was unreadable.
"So this is what Reginald was working on."
Elias stood stiffly under Cassius's piercing gaze, his fingers subtly curling against the fabric of his sleeves. The room was silent, save for the soft flicker of candlelight and the faint rustle of papers on Cassius's desk.
Then, Cassius spoke.
"You look handsome."
Elias blinked, stunned for a moment. He had braced himself for ridicule, for cold indifference, but not this—not an outright compliment from Cassius himself. Before he could process it, before he could even think of a response, Cassius rose from his seat and closed the distance between them in a few swift strides.
Then, without hesitation, Cassius leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips.
It was brief, fleeting—no deeper than a whisper of warmth against his skin—but it sent a jolt of shock through Elias's entire body. His breath caught as he stumbled back, his eyes wide with disbelief.
His back hit the edge of the desk, his fingers gripping the wood for stability as he gawked at Cassius. "W-What are you—"
Cassius tilted his head, amusement flickering behind his blue eyes. "What?" he asked smoothly. "Am I not allowed to do that?"
Elias's heart pounded in his chest, confusion warring with something deeper—something he didn't want to name. His lips still tingled from the contact, a phantom warmth lingering there.
Cassius, on the other hand, looked completely unfazed. As if kissing him had been as natural as breathing.
Elias swallowed hard, forcing himself to find his voice. "That's—That's not something a master does to his valet."
Cassius chuckled, low and rich, as he returned to his seat. "Perhaps not," he admitted, picking up his pen once more. Then, with a slow smirk beneath his mask, he added, "But then again, you're not just any valet, are you?"
Elias had no answer to that.