Help! I Became A Guy In A BL Novel!-Chapter 157: Play boy?

Leon stood tall before the ornate mirror, the soft golden morning light spilling through the wide windows of his chamber.

The fine silks he was to wear today were draped carefully over a polished mahogany stand nearby, colours rich and deep—crimson and gold, colours that demanded attention and respect.

They were clothes truly worthy of a king.

The outfit itself was a masterwork: a long, fitted coat of deep red silk, embroidered with intricate patterns in shimmering gold thread that caught the light with every subtle movement.

No, Leon did not just wear anything. All of his clothes had threads made of actual gold and silver.

His cuffs were broad, adorned with delicate gold lace, and the high collar framed his neck and jawline regally. Beneath the coat, he wore a pale cream shirt with a stiff collar, its fabric so fine it was almost translucent in places. Riven would be drooling if he saw Leon now.

His golden hair, loose and spilling past his shoulders, gleamed like molten metal in the light. His expression was calm, cool, and vaguely bored, his icy blue eyes flickering over his reflection. He was happy with it. It was something he was used to seeing every day, and yet his own face still amazed him. It was the definition of perfect.

A servant, a young woman, a deer shifter, stood nearby, her hands trembling slightly as she prepared the last pieces of his attire. Her brown, doe eyes were clouded with uncertainty, but she dutifully smoothed out the fine red coat, fastening the intricate golden buttons.

There was something troubled in her demeanour, a hesitation that hadn’t been there before.

Perhaps it was because, once, not long ago, she had shared his bed.

Leon had many such encounters. It was no secret. He made it clear to her, just as he did with the women before her, that nothing would come of it beyond that single, fleeting night. No promises whispered into the darkness, no sweet lies murmured against the skin.

He did not believe in false hope.

And yet, despite his warnings, many still dared to hope.

The woman finished buttoning his coat and then, hesitating only for a moment, reached up toward his hair, a simple ribbon between her fingers, intending to tie his golden locks into a neat, formal style suitable for travel.

She barely managed to brush her fingers against his hair before he turned sharply, swatting her hand away with a swift, dismissive motion.

The slap of skin against skin echoed harshly in the otherwise quiet room.

"Are you forgetting your place?" Leon said coldly, his voice low and cutting, not needing to be raised to carry authority.

The woman’s eyes widened. She immediately dropped her hand, bowing her head in apology, stepping back so quickly she nearly stumbled over her own feet.

"No, my lord," she said in a small voice, shaking her head frantically.

Leon did not spare her another glance. He adjusted the cuffs of his coat himself with an air of impatience, then turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

Servants along the hallway bowed and scrambled out of the way as he passed. His golden hair streamed behind him, free and untamed, much like the man himself.

His hair should be appreciated but never touched.

Behind him, the woman sank to her knees, the ribbon she had meant for his hair slipping from her fingers and fluttering to the floor like a fallen petal.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

"What did I expect?" She thought bitterly. She couldn’t help herself.

She should have known better. Everyone knew about Leon’s reputation. He was not a playboy in the way others were—he was not cruel for the sake of cruelty, not manipulative or calculating in the pursuit of pleasure.

No, Leon was brutally honest.

He made it clear, every time, that there would be no attachment, no lingering sentiment.

A single night.

No more.

And yet... She had let herself hope.

She had told herself that maybe, just maybe, she had been different. That their night together had meant something more than just fleeting pleasure.

But of course it hadn’t.

Of course not.

He had never let anyone touch his hair. Not once. It was a known, unspoken rule. Servants learned quickly not to try. His lovers, fleeting though they were, were never permitted that intimacy either.

She stayed kneeling on the floor for a long while after he had gone, the sounds of the bustling entourage preparing for departure drifting through the corridors outside.

His journey north would take him deep into wolf territory. He was more like a vulture than a lion at this point, he was hoping to involve himself and scavenge the poor remains of this clan when everything eventually blew up.

Leon rode at the head of the procession, the morning sun glinting off his golden hair and the polished buttons of his crimson and gold coat. The wind tugged gently at the loose strands of his hair, and for a brief moment, his mind wandered to the servant girl’s hand reaching for his hair.

Her touch had been hesitant, careful, almost reverent.

He had reacted without thinking, as he always did when someone tried to touch his hair. A sharp swat, a cutting remark, and the matter was dealt with.

He hated people touching his hair. Always had.

It wasn’t just a matter of personal space or pride, though he had both in abundance. No, it was something deeper, something that curled uncomfortably beneath his ribs if he dared to look too closely.

Touching hair was an intimate gesture. Careless. Trusting. Vulnerable.

And Leon had long ago decided that he had no use for vulnerability.

He did not intend to ever care for someone so much that he would welcome that touch, that trust. Besides, who could ever be more beautiful than him, more powerful than him, more... Narcissistic than him?