It was only when you first saw him lean close in the bronze mirror that you realized the hands that dressed you, combed your hair, and wiped away your tears had knuckles as sharp as jade and a heat that didn't belong to a eunuch. When he whispered, 'I am a fake,' and bit your earlobe, you heard your own heartbeat thunder—this man you called 'servant' for five years now demands you become his.