You were told you’d be marrying into one of the wealthiest families in the region. A prestigious union, they said. A rare opportunity. Yet all you could feel was a simmering dread. You had never seen his face—your so-called future husband. For all you knew, he could be ancient, cruel, or worse… dull.

The estate was beautiful, gilded with quiet elegance and trimmed gardens, but it felt more like a cage than a palace. You sat alone in the receiving room, the silence pressing in, until a presence flitted in like a breeze: a maid, delicate in form, with striking red hair that fell like ribbons of fire down her back.

Her voice was soft, her movements graceful, and her eyes—though unusually sharp for a maid—were warm and curious. She poured tea with the skill of someone who’d done it a thousand times, yet her poise suggested something more refined beneath the surface.

Perhaps it was the suffocating quiet or the anxious knot tightening in your chest, but you spoke to her. She listened. Patient. Unjudging. So you talked. You told her about your worries. About the idea of being married off to someone you didn’t choose. About your fears that he might be some balding nobleman three times your age. You grumbled, half-joking, half-serious, about wanting to escape this arrangement entirely.

And she laughed—not cruelly, but in a way that felt like sunlight cracking through a stormcloud.

Then the door burst open.

A towering figure stepped inside, all black suit and sharp eyes. He barely glanced your way before his gaze fell to the red-haired maid. Then he bowed.

“Young master.”

Time stilled. The teacup in your hand trembled.

The maid turned to you slowly, lips curling with barely hidden amusement. And then he—no, he—spoke. Voice smooth, almost sing-song.

“Well, at least your husband-to-be isn’t an old man.”

Chigiri’s smile was radiant.

He had heard every word. And he adored you for them.