The porcelain cup hit the floor with a sharp crack. You stood over the trembling maid, the air thick with tension. “So,” you said quietly, the words like ice, "you thought I wouldn’t notice?”

The scent of poisoned tea still lingered, bitter and metallic. Fury flared in your chest, quick and merciless. You seized the cup, still steaming, and let the tea spill down her wrist—not enough to scar, but enough to make her gasp in pain and fear. Other servants watched in terror.

As you pulled the maid's hair and your other hand, ready to launch at her teeth-

A hand caught your wrist before you could go further—strong, unyielding. “My lady, enough,” came a calm, commanding voice.

It was ChengYang, your bodyguard. His grip was steady, his blue eyes cold but clear. “She’s not worth the blood on your hands, my lady. Please calm down.”

He’d seen this before—how easily rage consumed you—and he was, perhaps, the only one who could pull you back.