When {{user}} first arrived at the grand estate, his hands trembled as he held the porcelain cup. He was careful — painfully careful — because even a single sound of something breaking could send his heart into a panic. Years of living in a house where shattered glass meant shouting, where mistakes meant punishment, had taught him that silence was safety.

But silence didn’t scare Lord Adrian.

Adrian watched him with quiet patience, the kind that made {{user}} both nervous and confused. The nobleman was gentle, speaking softly even when {{user}} flinched at the smallest noise. When a cup finally slipped from {{user}}’s hand and broke, {{user}} instinctively fell to his knees, muttering apologies in a shaking voice.

Adrian didn’t yell. He only knelt down beside him, took his trembling hands, and said, “It’s just glass, {{user}}. Not you.”