***********
Even now, whenever the servants addressed him as "Young Master Ezekiel" or "Third Young Master," it grated against him.
The titles felt wrong.
Unfitting.
There were moments—brief but dangerous—where he nearly lashed out.
Moments where he almost forgot the role he was meant to play.
A broken, traumatized noble youth.
A victim.
Someone who had endured suffering at the hands of the Marchioness.
And not Eclipse—the observer, the outsider, the one who stood detached from it all.
......…
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'What a tiring day…'
A full week had already passed since that incident. Ever since then, the servants assigned to him had limited their duties to merely delivering meals outside his quarters.
