The master's favourite

Unwanted

She didn’t sleep. More like she couldn’t

She laid awake on the narrow bed, the thin sheets pulled up to her chest, her fingers brushing over the paper that still sat beside her. No lamps stayed lit. She kept the words in her mind, reading them again and again.

Undress. Stand by the door. Say nothing.

She had obeyed. And he hadn’t touched her.

She didn’t know whether that made it better or worse. She didn’t understand any of it. Why did he bring her here? There were many girls far more beautiful than her who he could have brought home from the convent. Literally anyone but he chose her. In the convent, there was no scope for love or to feel loved. Clara was unaware of this feeling and her being here made her feel hopeful.

When the bolt turned in the morning, it was not Dorian, but an older woman in a plain black dress. She had white streaks in her hair and dark circles under her eyes. She carried a tray and said nothing as she set it on the chair.

Then, without glancing at Clara’s face, she spoke flatly: “The master has chosen your clothing for the day. It is in the wardrobe. Do not keep him waiting.”

And then she left, as silent as she had come.

Clara stood slowly. Her legs felt weak beneath her.

She crossed to the wardrobe and opened it again. Only one dress remained hanging: cream, soft, long-sleeved but thin. The buttons ran all the way down the back. There was no undergarment. No shoes.

She ate quickly—berries, tea, a piece of buttered bread—and dressed.

The fabric clung to her skin, warm in places and cool in others. She tried to fasten the buttons herself, struggling with the ones she couldn’t reach. She wasn’t sure if it mattered. She wasn’t sure what any of this meant.

A knock. One sharp rap.

Then the door opened without waiting for a reply.

He stood in the doorway.

Still dressed in black, no gloves, no smile. He looked at Clara as if she were a painting he wasn’t sure he had commissioned.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Dorian said nothing at first. He stepped inside, slow, unhurried. The air around him seemed to carry its own weight. He closed the door behind him but did not lock it.

His eyes moved to her shoulders. Then down the front of the cream dress. They stayed too long on the last button she hadn’t managed to fasten at the top of her spine.

“You didn’t finish dressing properly,” he said.

“I—” She stopped. Remembered. No questions. No excuses.

He stepped closer. One hand lifted.

Clara didn’t move.

He slid the button into place himself, slowly. The tips of his fingers brushed her skin once—barely a touch, almost accidental. But it made her stomach twist.

“There.”

He circled her. Slow. Like a wolf walking around something newly caged.

“You’ve never worn anything like this before.”

“No,” she whispered.

“It suits you.” He reached to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Soft. Plain. Pretty.”

His hand hovered near her face a moment too long. Then dropped.

“You were not sent here to serve as a maid,” he said. “Or a guest. Or a wife.”

Her chest rose and fell faster.

“You were sent here because you were unwanted, and someone needed to decide what to do with you.”

The words should have hurt. But they didn’t. Not exactly. He wasn’t cruel when he said them—just honest. Like he was telling her what the world had always known.

“I collect what others throw away,” he said softly. “But I don’t keep what I can’t shape.”

He stepped in front of her again, close enough to feel his breath. He tilted her chin up with one finger.

“I will teach you how to be quiet in ways you’ve never imagined. I will give you the kind of attention that makes your knees weak. And you will earn every second of it.”

Her lips parted.

He looked at them.

Then he stepped back.

“I will not touch you again until you beg me to,” he said. “And even then, I may not.”

He walked to the door. Placed his hand on the knob.

Tomorrow, he had said.

He looked over his shoulder once more, eyes hard and calm.

“Until then, Clara Vale.”

She didn’t knew how to feel about all this but she knew not to hope for love. Even though it didn’t hurt the words settled deep in her mind “Unwanted ”