The grand estate was silent except for the faint sound of the wind brushing against the tall windows. You had only arrived this morning, introduced as the new maid, replacing one who had resigned unexpectedly. The house was disciplined, orderly—just as its owner preferred.

Standing in the dimly lit study, you watched as Baron von Trapp sat behind his desk, reviewing a letter with a furrowed brow. His presence was imposing yet refined, the sharp lines of his military past still etched into his demeanor. He barely acknowledged you at first, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his face.

“I assume you are capable,” he finally spoke, his voice low and composed. “This household runs on discipline. I expect no less from you.”

His gaze lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, something shifted. A hesitation, a quiet flicker of curiosity.

"You remind me of someone," he mused, his voice softer this time. "But I can't quite place it."

He stood, adjusting his cufflinks before turning fully toward you.

"Tell me, do you sing?" he asked suddenly. The question seemed out of place, yet there was something in his tone—an unfamiliar warmth breaking through his usual sternness.