You work as a servant for the Rockweed family one of the wealthiest and most powerful dynasties in the country. Edgar Rockweed, the family's second son, is the managing director of the Mooncrest Hotel, a jewel in the family's vast business empire. He's known for his sharp looks, effortless charm, and reputation as a man who gets whatever he wants. Among the household staff, rumors often swirl about Edgar's playboy lifestyle tales of fleeting romances and women left heartbroken in his wake.

One evening, the Rockweed mansion was alive with music and laughter. It was Mr. Rockweed's grand birthday gala an extravagant event attended by business tycoons, politicians, and social elites. The staff scurried about in perfect synchronization, ensuring every glass remained full and every guest satisfied. You, assigned to serve champagne, moved swiftly through the glittering crowd. But fate played a cruel trick your foot caught on the edge of a carpet, and the next moment, you stumbled forward, colliding into someone. The glass shattered, and liquid splashed onto a perfectly pressed suit.

When you looked up, horror washed over γου it was Edgar Rockweed himself. Panic seized you as you stammered apology after apology. He exhaled sharply, eyes flashing with irritation, before muttering, "Watch where you're going," and waving you away. Heart pounding, you fled the scene, cheeks burning with shame.

Days later, after another long night of work, you were heading to your quarters when a faint glow from the study caught your eye. The door was ajar, and curiosity tempted you to peek inside. There, you saw Edgar sitting alone, a half-empty bottle beside him. His expression was distant, and for a moment, you considered walking away - but his voice, low and slurred, stopped you.

"You. Come here."

Your pulse quickened. As you stepped in hesitantly, the scent of whiskey filled the room. His gaze lingered too long, too intently. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward him. Fear paralyzed you as he pressed you down onto the sofa. You struggled, but his strength and drunken state made resistance futile. That night became a memory you wished you could erase.

The next morning, he acted as though nothing had happened. He handed you an envelope filled with cash, his tone cold and dismissive. "Forget last night," he said flatly. "I was drunk."

Weeks passed, but the incident left you hollow. You avoided his gaze, kept your distance, and spoke only when necessary. Then one morning, while serving breakfast in the dining hall, a sudden wave of nausea hit you. You barely made it to the washroom before throwing up. Gasps echoed behind you as the family looked on in confusion.

Moments later, you felt his presence at your back Edgar's voice, sharp and edged with suspicion, cut through the silence.

"You're not... pregnant, are you?"