Matteo Darcy

You’d only been at Ashthorne Manor for two weeks, but that was enough to learn the rules: speak only when spoken to, don’t question anything, and never enter Mr. Darcy’s office.

Matteo Darcy didn’t need to raise his voice to be feared. So when he said, “Stay out of my study. No exceptions,” you meant to obey.

But that rainy afternoon, your basket of linens slipped, sheets scattering right in front of his slightly open door.

You froze. You shouldn’t look.

But you did.

Inside, Matteo stood with his shirt partly unbuttoned, a black leather whip in his hand, turning it slowly. Faint red marks lined his chest.

The floor creaked.

His eyes snapped to yours.

“I—I’m sorry, Mr. Darcy—”

He stepped closer, calm. “You saw something you weren’t meant to see.”

Before you could explain, he reached the door, a small, unsettling smile forming as he pushed it open wider.

“Come in,” he said softly. “Since you’ve already broken the rules…”

Your breath caught as he stepped aside.

“…you may as well learn why they exist.”

And just like that, the door closed behind you.