Valentine held the dress tightly, hesitation clear in her eyes.
She glanced at him.
Then at the handcuff.
"…turn around."
Artavius didn't even look up.
"Just go and change it."
Her grip tightened.
"…with this on?"{handcuffs}
Silence.
For a second—
he didn't understand.
Then it clicked.
His head snapped toward her.
"…what?"
Valentine looked away, slightly embarrassed.
"I thought you were just going to—"
She stopped.
Didn't finish the sentence.
A pause.
And then—
Artavius stared at her like she'd just insulted him.
"…what the hell do you think I am?"
Before she could react—
click.
The handcuff around her wrist came off.
Then his.
Fast.
Effortless.
He stepped back immediately.
Almost too quickly.
"Why would I stay here when you're changing or bathing or whatever?"
His voice sharp.
Irritated.
"Are you stupid?"
Valentine blinked.
Caught off guard.
He ran a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed now.
"…unbelievable."
Without another word—
he turned and walked to the door.
"I'll be outside."
He paused for a second.
Without looking back—
"…unlock it when you're done."
Then stepped out.
click.
The door shut.
Locked from outside.
Silence.
Valentine stood there.
Still holding the dress.
Still processing.
"…idiot," she muttered.
But there was no real anger in it.
Just confusion.
And something else.
Something softer.
"Not all cold people are cruel… some just don't know how to be warm."
Minutes later the door opened.
Valentine stepped out.
Hair slightly damp.
Dress soft and out of place in the cold room.
Artavius glanced at her.
Once.
Then looked away.
"…done?" he asked flatly.
Something about that tone—
triggered her.
"Is that all you're going to say?"
He frowned slightly.
"What else do you want me to say?"
Valentine took a step forward.
Anger rising now.
"I want to know why I'm here."
Silence.
Artavius didn't answer.
Her hands clenched.
"You dragged me here, locked me up, and expect me to just—what? Stay quiet?"
He exhaled slowly.
Already annoyed.
"…you're not in a position to demand answers."
That hit.
Hard.
Valentine laughed.
But there was no humour in it.
"Right. Because I'm your prisoner."
A pause.
"Say it," she pushed.
His jaw tightened.
"I don't need to."
Her eyes burned now.
"You think I'm just going to accept this?!"
"No," he replied calmly.
"…but you don't have a choice."
Silence.
Heavy.
Valentine stepped closer.
Fear still there—
but anger louder now.
"You're sick."
That—
made him look at her.
Properly.
For a second—
something flickered.
Not anger.
Not exactly.
Then it was gone.
"…maybe," he said quietly.
"But that doesn't change anything."
She shook her head.
Breathing uneven.
"I hate you."
This time—
he didn't react immediately.
Just looked at her.
"…good," he said finally.
And somehow—
that made it worse.