The rain hammered down, a relentless drumbeat on the car's roof, yet the sound of the engine, "VROOM," consumed everything else as we sped away. I held the tiny, shivering kitten close to my chest, swaddled in a piece of fabric hastily wrapped around it. Its soft, pitiful "MEW" barely reached my ears over the storm. My heart clenched at its helplessness. And yet… I never imagined he'd do this. I never imagined he would care.
I stole a glance at the man driving. Even in the rain, he looked like he had stepped straight out of a magazine: sharp, polished, immaculate in every detail. And yet, memories of moments ago—the ones that seemed almost impossible now—floated back to me. His neat hair had been disheveled by the rain, each strand plastered to his forehead, and his sharp, immaculate clothing was now speckled with mud and leaves, evidence of the ridiculous, selfless endeavor he had undertaken to save the tiny creature I now held.
I couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at my lips. I remembered the moment he handed the kitten to me—his large, strong hands trembling ever so slightly, almost as if the fragility of the creature had pierced through the armor of his usual composure. I had expected scorn, indifference, or even impatience. Instead, there had been… care. Tender, unspoken, fleeting care. The kitten, damp and vulnerable, had looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes. Another faint "MEW" escaped its tiny throat, and for the first time, I saw a softness in him I hadn't known existed.
Now, in the car's dim interior, he was silent. His hands gripped the wheel with steady precision, eyes fixed ahead, but the weight of what had just happened lingered between us. It wasn't just about the kitten. It was the act itself—the selflessness, the small but undeniable moment of vulnerability. And for reasons I couldn't explain, it made him feel… different. Almost human.
I watched his profile, the way his jaw tightened unconsciously, the faint crease between his brows as he navigated through puddles and slick streets. The rain clung to the windows, blurring the world outside, but in here, everything felt intimate, suspended in a strange, quiet bubble. My fingers brushed the kitten's damp fur, feeling its tiny heart flutter, and then, almost instinctively, I reached out and brushed a stray leaf from his sleeve.
His eyes flickered toward mine, sharp and assessing, but there was something there—a hesitation, a flicker of something unspoken. A trace of the man behind the mask, a man who could be ruthless, poised, untouchable… yet, in this small, impossible moment, he had chosen kindness.
I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. Words felt unnecessary. The rain pounded, the engine roared, the world outside was chaos—but in this car, we existed in a fragile, fleeting moment of understanding. And maybe, just maybe, I realized that a small act of compassion could reveal more than a thousand perfectly polished smiles ever could.
The kitten mewed again, and for a heartbeat, we all existed in that fragile quiet—strangers bound by a tiny life, a storm, and an unexpected, shared humanity.
The rain continued its furious descent, "SWAAAA," as I finally arrived back at the house, soaked to the bone, the fabric of my dress clinging to me like a second skin. Yet, the small bundle in my arms demanded all my attention. The kitten's feeble "MEW" barely rose above the storm's roar, and I pressed it closer, desperate to shield it from the cold that had seeped into its tiny body.
I hurried past the grand entrance, the polished marble slick beneath my heels, leaving a trail of water in my wake. The servants were immediately alert, the quiet murmur of the household shifting into action. Mrs. Anna emerged first, her face etched with concern that softened only when she spotted the kitten.
"Oh, a baby kitten! Goodness, it's tiny," she exclaimed, eyes widening as they fell upon the drenched, shivering creature.
"I brought it home, but I… I don't know what to do with it," I admitted, my voice strained, almost breaking. "Its body is ice-cold from the rain, and it sounds so weak. We have to save it, no matter what."
The kitten let out another frail "MEW," so small yet so full of life, and I felt my resolve harden.
Mrs. Anna immediately took charge, her calm efficiency cutting through my panic. "The first priority is to warm it up. Give it here." She cradled the kitten with surprising gentleness, her hands firm but tender. "Quickly, wipe this kitten down. Heat some water in the kitchen—we'll warm it up." Her tone shifted as she addressed another maid, crisp with command yet soothing: "Yes, Miss! Don't worry, it doesn't seem to be in too grave a condition."
I moved quickly, issuing my next set of instructions. "Contact Dr. Astance or Dr. Lennon immediately. Ask them to examine the kitten. They're the husband and wife physicians for the Serenity family."
As the maids hurried off, carrying the fragile bundle like precious treasure, one of them glanced back at me, her expression mingling concern and surprise. "It looks like you've been rained on as well, Lady Serena. Right after I contact Dr. Astance, I'll heat up the water for your bath."
"All right," I said softly, nodding, my thoughts momentarily shifting from the kitten to myself. Then, remembering something else that had been gnawing at me all day, I called, "And Sui?"
"Yes, Lady Serena?" Sui stepped forward, her movements hesitant but attentive.
I probed further, needing to confirm what had been troubling me since morning. "What about… the matter I asked you to look into?"
Sui paused, as if measuring her words. "Oh…" she began, then relayed the information I needed, her voice low but clear. "Frederick stayed in the bedroom all day today."
I absorbed her words in silence. The kitten's fate was now in competent hands, but the man who had risked the rain, the man I had been trying to understand… the one whose sharp, polished exterior had revealed an unexpected softness… he had retreated from the world. My curiosity mingled with a quiet worry. Why had he not moved? What was he feeling after our brief, strange encounter outside?
I pressed my hands to my chest, still damp and chilled from the storm, and felt the fragile pulse of life in the kitten, a small warmth spreading through me. For now, that life mattered most—but Frederick lingered in my thoughts, like a shadow at the edge of the room, waiting for me to understand him.
Sui's words echoed in my mind: "He didn't wander around the manor or do anything else unusual." Just staying in his room. No meetings, no strolls through the gardens, no polite inquiries to the staff—just silence.
After a warm bath, I emerged feeling somewhat restored, the chill from the storm finally leaving my bones. My soaked clothes replaced with dry ones, I lingered for a moment, unsure of my next move. But my thoughts—persistent, insistent—drew me toward Frederick's bedroom.
I paused at the door, my hand hovering over the handle. The dim light spilling through the curtains painted the room in muted shades of blue and gray, the kind of light that seemed to hold its breath. I took a deep breath, trying to steel myself, and pushed the door open.
"Frederick?" I called softly.
Only silence answered me.
I stepped inside, my eyes adjusting to the cool, quiet room. He lay on the large, ornate sofa, his head tilted back, utterly still. For a fleeting second, I wondered: is he asleep?
I lingered at the edge of the room, my mind cataloging every detail. His shirt was slightly rumpled, a rare break from the perfection he maintained even in private. The faint rise and fall of his chest was slow and measured, and his fingers rested loosely on the arm of the sofa.
This is… my first time seeing him like this. Usually, he greets me almost before I even speak, poised, alert, every inch the composed gentleman. Yet here he was—silent, unguarded, strangely human.
Come to think of it… Frederick always falls asleep after I do, and wakes before me. I've almost never witnessed him in rest. Sometimes, I even wondered if he slept at all.
A faint noise—a soft click of something against the wood—caught my attention. My gaze shifted to a small object on a nearby table. "Huh?"
I moved closer and picked up the box. My breath hitched. Inside were a few small green pills.
These are… my sleeping pills.
A wave of confusion, mingled with cold apprehension, swept over me. I hadn't used them myself since I started managing the hotel. Why… why did he take these?
My fingers trembled as I held one of the tiny pills. My God… how many had he taken? A single pill could be potent, yet this box suggested more than that. My chest tightened, unease blooming like frost along my nerves.
I sank into the nearest chair, gripping the pill loosely in my hand. The storm outside had stopped, yet the manor was now cloaked in a different, more suffocating silence. Every tick of the clock felt louder than it should, every shadow sharper, every stillness unnervingly deliberate.
What on earth is going on with him?
The thought repeated itself in my mind, relentless, as I stared at Frederick—so close, yet somehow distant. The perfectly composed man I thought I knew was now a puzzle wrapped in mystery, and the truth of this quiet, troubling moment felt heavier than the rain that had only just passed.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the small pillbox, hard enough that my knuckles paled. The weight of it, the reality of what it contained—and who had taken from it—left a cold ache blooming in my chest. Frederick… composed, distant, perfectly controlled Frederick… lying unconscious on the sofa because he used my sleeping pills?
The thought made my stomach twist. I had to squeeze my hand just to keep myself grounded, to stop the swirling mix of worry and disbelief from overwhelming me.
The storm replayed itself behind my eyes—the deafening engine, "VROOM," the rain pounding mercilessly, and the fragile warmth of the kitten trembling against my chest, its tiny "MEW" near drowned out by the chaos outside. I replayed every second, searching for some hidden sign, some subtle clue I might have missed earlier.
The image of him standing there in the downpour wouldn't leave me:
—His neat hair plastered messily across his forehead.
—His immaculate clothes dotted with leaves and flecks of mud.
—That fleeting, almost fragile expression as he handed me the kitten with both hands.
In that moment, he didn't look like the man who calculated every move with machine-like precision. He looked… different. As if something inside him had shifted.
And now this. Him asleep—no, knocked out—on the sofa, with my potent sleeping pills scattered beside him.
I am so confused.
No words felt adequate enough. The confusion came in sharp waves, crashing and retreating, leaving me unsteady.
I closed my eyes, letting the weight of everything settle. I sifted through the facts—what I knew, what I thought I knew.
The Eiser I knew… had come into this house with a plan. A cold, calculated one.
After reviving the hotel, he was meant to eliminate me and take over the Serenity Family.
That was the truth I had lived with. The truth that made my heart clench every time he approached me, every time he looked at me too long.
But then… reality had shifted.
Somewhere between the shared hours working on the hotel, the meetings, the late nights reviewing accounts, and his steady, strangely gentle instructions—everything had changed.
He hadn't just taught me the ropes.
He had taught me everything. Patiently. Thoroughly. Almost… protectively.
And when he told me about the second Serenity Hotel by the sea—
He did it only after preparing every last detail.
After President Harold confirmed the plans.
After his exhausting business trip.
Would someone planning to get rid of me do all that?
To teach me so diligently, to prepare a future he wouldn't be part of?
He could have just passed the paperwork through Raul and ended me quietly.
But he didn't.
Every time I tested that logic, it broke apart in my hands.
And then there was Frederick.
Frederick, the man I trusted most.
The one I could speak to openly, cry to, lean on.
The one whose presence always felt steady… familiar… safe.
But after that day—after that strange, shattering shift—he felt like a stranger wearing a familiar face.
I looked back at him now, lying so still, his breathing slow, almost fragile. His features relaxed in a way I had never seen before. Vulnerable. Human.
And for the first time since all of this began…
He didn't feel like someone who wanted to cast me out.
Or kill me.
Or betray me.
The fear I had carried for so long—tight around my ribs, suffocating—had begun to loosen.
In its place grew something far more unsettling:
An overwhelming, disorienting mystery.
A feeling that the man I thought I understood—both his warmth and his danger—
was slipping away, layer by layer, revealing someone I had never expected.
And I didn't know whether that terrified me…
or drew me closer.
The dead weight of him settled deep in my arms, and I staggered.
"ACK! OH NO, HE'S WAY TOO HEAVY." My voice came out as a breathless squeak of surprise and strain. I had always known he was tall, solidly built, but I had never felt it like this—an immovable bulk that mocked my usual grace.
I shifted my grip, shoulders burning, muscles trembling. STRUGGLE. A stark realization struck me as I tried to drag his legs forward: "I SEE… LIFTING OR MOVING A PERSON IS DIFFICULT." A faint tremor ran up my calves, and I glanced down at my flimsy slippered feet, barely keeping balance. "I HAD NO IDEA… SINCE I'M USUALLY THE ONE BEING LIFTED… AND ALL TOO EASILY, TOO."
It was humbling, almost comical—me, the one accustomed to being carried, now wrestling with a man twice my size across the cold marble floor. DRAG.
"Hang in there," I muttered to myself, teeth clenched, muscles straining. "JUST GET TO THE BED… THE BED!"
With one final, desperate heave, I let his body fall onto the mattress. FLOP.
I collapsed beside him, landing across his chest with a satisfying thud. Exhaustion wrapped me like a heavy blanket, my lungs seizing in relief. I rolled slightly to the side, hair splayed across the pillow, heart hammering. "WHEW! I DID IT. GUESS I'M STRONGER THAN I THOUGHT…"
I lay there for a long moment, eyes wide and unblinking, taking in the sight of him asleep next to me. Frederick—handsome, imposing Frederick—was utterly still, tension melted from his face, leaving only a vulnerable, serene calm.
STARE.
My thoughts twisted into knots. This man was a puzzle wrapped in a striking facade. The closer I looked, the more secrets I unearthed, the more questions multiplied in my mind. I closed my eyes briefly, dread and curiosity warring inside me.
"WILL KNOWING MORE ABOUT YOU BE FOR BETTER… OR FOR WORSE?"
The quiet anxiety of that question settled deep in my gut, making my breath hitch. I opened my eyes, noticing his hand resting beside him on the pristine white linen.
"PLEASE… DON'T MAKE ME FEEL SO ANXIOUS."
Before I could stop myself, my own hand began moving, slow and hesitant. REACH.
I lifted it, placing it gently against his cheek. The faint stubble scratched softly beneath my fingertips, but the warmth of his skin steadied me. The touch was a quiet, firm promise to myself.
"I WANT TO TRUST YOU, FREDERICK."
The words floated silently in the room, leaving a fragile tension behind. Then, a slight movement beside me—a subtle twitch of his hand on the mattress. A low, muffled sound escaped his lips, barely audible, but unmistakable.
"Lady… Serena…"
My heart skipped a beat. He was dreaming of me. Even in the depths of sleep, he somehow knew I was near.
I withdrew my hand slowly, letting the moment pass, fragile and fleeting. Yet in that quiet connection—his unconscious acknowledgment of my presence—hope bloomed alongside fear. Fragile, uncertain, but undeniably there.
I
I lay next to him, the soft glow of the morning spilling pale light across the bedsheets, casting long, fragile shadows. My gaze was fixed on his sleeping face, quiet, unguarded. Frederick. The man who had saved me, taught me, terrified me, and somehow—against all reason—drew me in with a strange gravity I could neither fight nor fully understand.
Questions churned in my mind, tangled and suffocating. Doubts, fears, and unspoken thoughts pressed against me like an invisible weight. I leaned closer, my internal monologue a desperate whisper in the oppressive quiet.
"WILL KNOWING MORE ABOUT YOU BE FOR BETTER… OR FOR WORSE?"
I couldn't look away. My chest felt tight, as if it were being crushed by invisible hands. The kind of anxiety that came from teetering on the edge of a cliff. I silently pleaded with the space between us, as though he could hear my torment.
"PLEASE… DON'T MAKE ME FEEL SO ANXIOUS."
He was calm. Peaceful. Unaware of the storm in my chest. ZZZ.
Trembling, I reached out, my fingers drifting toward his cheek. REACH. This small, tender act—so simple, so natural—was a leap of faith, a silent promise. I settled my hand against his skin, feeling its warmth, the soft texture, the faint stubble beneath my fingertips.
"I WANT TO TRUST YOU, FREDERICK."
A wave of desperate sincerity washed through me, and my thumb brushed softly along his jawline, tracing the lines of his face as though memorizing them.
Then, subtle tension radiated through him. His muscles stiffened. The hand resting on the mattress twitched. A faint flinch ran through his body, a tremor that spoke of dreams darker than I could have imagined. He began to mumble, voice low and unsteady.
"Lady… Serena…"
My heart jumped into my throat. Hearing my name from his lips—so close, so intimate—sent a strange thrill through me. But my relief was short-lived.
"I'M…"
The word was heavier now, strained with some unspeakable weight. A sense of wrongness settled over the room, oppressive and chilling. My breath hitched; a cold tremor ran down my spine.
Something is wrong.
I looked down. My eyes widened in horror. A vivid, dark red stain was spreading across the white sheets, slick and alive. Blood.
Panic seized me, sharp and immediate. My pulse thundered in my ears. My body reacted before my mind could, pushing me backward instinctively. SPRING. I scrambled, turning my back to him, hair flying, heart hammering against my ribs. I had to get away. I had to breathe.
"…SORRY…"
The low, guttural apology seemed to come from deep within his subconscious, from somewhere dark and unreachable. The sound twisted my gut into knots, fueling the chaos of fear and confusion surging through me.
THUD.
A massive, painful lurch struck my chest, echoing through the room like a cruel drumbeat. I clutched at the sheets, my mind racing, every nerve alight with terror. BA-BUMP. BA-BUMP.
I stared into the darkness, hyperventilating, the red stain searing into my mind's eye. I couldn't tell whose blood it was—or if my mind had conjured a nightmare so real it had invaded the waking world.
Everything felt wrong. The intimacy, the vulnerability, the trust I had dared to offer—all twisted into fear. I trembled, pressed against the far edge of the bed, too afraid to look back at the sleeping man beside me.
And in that quiet, heavy room, the line between dream and reality blurred.
The room began to spin. Fear, the sight of blood, the sound of his mumbled name—they fused into a single, crushing weight pressing against my chest. My breath caught in my throat. BA-BUMP. Each thud of my heart rattled through me like a hammer against fragile glass. I pitched forward slightly, knees buckling beneath me. SLUMP.
I pressed my hands over my face, trying to shield myself from the overwhelming darkness, but it only amplified the terror. BA-BUMP. BA-BUMP. The pounding rhythm was deafening, drowning out logic, leaving no space for reason. I clawed at my chest, desperate for air that wouldn'