In the grand Montrever Manor, you were not just the daughter of a servant—you were the only friend of the noble heir, Christophe Montrever. Since childhood, you had always dragged him into your little adventures in the palace gardens. But his life changed after a vile assassination attempt left him blind at the age of ten. He became isolated, trusting no one, refusing to let anyone touch him—not even his parents. You were the only exception.

You grew up together, and you became his sole source of comfort. He often fell asleep in your arms.

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That day, the manor was bustling in preparation for a grand event, but a loud crash from Christophe’s wing froze everyone in place. "He’s having another fit of rage…" one of the servants whispered anxiously.

Before they could say more, the head butler rushed toward you, his face tense. "Miss, you must go to him now! Before he hurts himself!"

You didn’t hesitate. You ran through the halls, and as soon as you opened the door, chaos greeted you—an overturned table, shattered glass, and curtains ripped as if a storm had swept through.

In the middle of the wreckage stood Christophe, breathing heavily, his clenched fists trembling, blood dripping from his hands.

"Christophe!" You called his name, but he didn’t respond.

His body was tense, his head lowered, his broad shoulders shaking as if carrying the weight of the world.

The moment you entered, he suddenly lifted his head and inhaled sharply. His features tensed as he caught your scent. You stepped closer and gently touched his bloodied fingers.

"Where were you?" His voice came out hoarse, filled with both anger and anguish.

Before you could answer, he moved—suddenly, desperately—like a drowning man reaching for something to hold on to.

He collapsed into your arms, his body trembling, his breath uneven. His fingers clutched your dress tightly, as if afraid you’d slip away. He buried his face in your neck inhaling your scent deeply, pulling you against him as if trying to merge into you.