I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

Matilda lay in her bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ornate ceiling of her room. The silk sheets whispered against her skin as she shifted restlessly, her mind a whirlwind of memories and conflicting emotions.

'How did I get here?' she wondered, her thoughts drifting back to the beginning of her life with Lord Blackthorn. The grand wedding, the envious glances, the whispers of admiration that followed her everywhere. For months, she had been the talk of the town, the young beauty who had captured the heart of the most eligible bachelor.

She remembered the initial thrill of her newfound status, the doors that opened, the respect that came with being Lady Blackthorn. The perks were endless - lavish parties, exquisite jewelry, the finest clothes. Yet, beneath the glittering surface, a hollowness had slowly taken root.

'Wife,' she mused bitterly. 'I've never truly felt like his wife.'

Blackthorn had never made her feel seen, truly seen. His gaze would pass over her like she was just another ornament in his vast collection. She had yearned for his touch, his passion, his undivided attention. The kind of attention that... that Zafron gave her so effortlessly.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she thought of Zafron's warm eyes, the way they lit up when he saw her. The gentle touch of his hands, the earnestness in his voice when he spoke to her. It was everything she had ever wanted from Blackthorn, everything she had been denied.

'But Blackthorn isn't just unromantic,' she thought, a familiar anger stirring in her chest. 'He's...impotent.'

The truth she had discovered weighed heavily on her. Blackthorn's carefully guarded secret - the XY virus, a genetic mutation that rendered him incapable of fathering children. He had no idea that she knew, that she had figured it out on her own. His frequent travels, his detachment, the conspicuous absence of children in the vast halls of the Blackthorn mansion - it all made sense now.

'He pushed me away to avoid the topic,' she realized, her heart aching with the pain of rejection. 'All to protect his precious secret.'

And then there was Zafron. Sweet, handsome Zafron with his perfect genetics, yet to be tested but she was sure of it.

The plan had seemed so simple at first - use him to solve the problem that Blackthorn couldn't. But now...

'Why now?' she questioned herself, frustration bubbling up inside her. 'Why am I feeling this way now, of all times?'

Unable to lie still any longer, Matilda slipped out of bed. Her bare feet made no sound as she crept out of her room and down the hallway. She found herself outside Zafron's door, her hand hesitating on the knob before slowly turning it.

The door opened silently, and there he was. Zafron lay peacefully asleep, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. The moonlight streaming through the window cast a soft glow on his features, making him look almost ethereal.

Matilda stood transfixed, drinking in the sight of him. Her heart raced as conflicting emotions warred within her.

'What is this feeling?' she wondered, one hand pressed against her chest as if to contain the swell of emotion threatening to overflow. 'He's not rich, not powerful. He has no influence in the circles that matter.'

Yet, as she watched him sleep, none of that seemed to matter. In the quiet of the night, stripped of all pretense and societal expectations, Zafron was simply a man. A man who looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world. A man who listened when she spoke, who laughed with her, who made her feel alive in ways she had forgotten were possible.

'He's insignificant in everything that should matter,' she thought, a wry smile tugging at her lips. 'So why does he matter so much to me?'

The realization hit her like a physical blow. This wasn't just attraction or a fleeting infatuation. This was something deeper, something that terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.

'Is this love?' The thought both excited and frightened her. 'Real love, not the cold, transactional relationship I have with Blackthorn?'

As she stood there, watching Zafron's peaceful slumber, Matilda felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice. Behind her lay the life she knew - wealthy, respected, but hollow. Ahead was an unknown future, fraught with risk but filled with the promise of genuine happiness.

'It all feels like a dream,' she thought, her vision blurring with unshed tears. 'A beautiful, impossible dream.'

In that moment, as the moonlight bathed them both in its soft glow, Matilda realized that her carefully laid plans, her ambitions, her very life had irrevocably changed. For better or worse, Zafron had awakened something in her that could not be denied.

With a trembling hand, she gently closed the door, leaving Zafron to his peaceful slumber.

Matilda's hand had just left the doorknob when her ears pricked up. A sound, faint but unmistakable, drifted through the night air. Not the gentle whisper of wind or the chirping of crickets, but something far more ominous.

People. Voices. And...was that the rumble of a cart?

Her heart leapt into her throat as she rushed to the main entrance, her nightgown billowing behind her. With trembling hands, she parted the curtains ever so slightly and peered out into the darkness.

The sight that greeted her made her blood run cold.

There, illuminated by the pale moonlight, was a grand cart approaching the house. And at its head, his imposing figure unmistakable even from a distance, was Lord Blackthorn.

"No," she gasped, stumbling back from the window. "No, no, no..."

Her mind raced. How had he found her? This property was supposed to be her secret, a haven purchased during his absence. But then again, this was Lord Blackthorn. His reach was far and his resources vast.

Panic clawed at her chest as the reality of the situation sank in. Zafron. She had to warn Zafron.

With a burst of desperate energy, Matilda sprinted back down the hallway towards Zafron's room. Her bare feet slapped against the cold floor, each step echoing her frantic heartbeat. She forced herself to move quietly, acutely aware that any noise might alert the approaching party to her wakefulness.

Time seemed to stretch and contract all at once. The hallway felt impossibly long, yet she knew she had mere moments before Blackthorn would be at the door.

Reaching Zafron's room, she burst inside, her eyes wild with fear and urgency.

"Zafron!" she hissed, rushing to his bedside. "Zafron, wake up!"

As she shook him awake, her mind whirled with half-formed plans. Where could she hide him? How could she explain his presence? What story could she conjure that Blackthorn might believe?