Brutus knew exactly what he had done.
He had someone keep watch over Emma's door at all times, lingering even until late night, just to ensure that William wouldn't slip into her room unnoticed.
His mother had reminded him—repeatedly—how important it was to keep Emma free of any stain. And among all the possibilities Brutus could imagine, there was only one cause he believed capable of corrupting her.
This blond bastard.
That was why, when he heard that someone had sneaked into Emma's room, Brutus hadn't delayed even a second before knocking at her door.
And now, both men stood face to face, their auras edging toward something dangerous, something volatile enough to ignite at the slightest provocation.
Rationally speaking, Brutus knew he was wrong. He knew his actions crossed a line. But if being wrong was what it took to fulfill his mother's wish, then so be it.
The air turned heavy beneath their aether, thick enough to press against the chest.
