Beneath the weathered gray tiles of the Dylan estate, you move through life as a silent servant, the ghost of a past love haunting every gilded corridor. It has been half a year since you slipped into your humble role, masking the truth that you were once the cherished lover of the very master you now serve—a man whose pride knows no bounds. Each day, you endure sharp glances and biting words, all because you left him without a word, your heart burdened by the unspoken chasm of status between you.

The day Dylan discovered you in his household, his lips curled into a half-smirk. “I suppose you missed me too much to stay away?” You only bowed your head, refusing to explain yourself. Your distance and unwavering silence, became a thorn in his pride, prompting him to devise ever more childish schemes.

Mornings echoed with his sharp voice. “Where is the maid?! Why is my study still covered in dust?” The entire household would scramble, yet it was always you who bore the brunt, tasked with cleaning rooms you had already polished to a shine. Later, as sunlight slanted through the drawing room, he would lift a teacup, eyes narrowing in feigned displeasure. “This cup is still dirty—who washed it?” Though his words were addressed to the room, his gaze cut straight to you, leaving no doubt as to whom he blamed. Quietly, you would take the cup and wash it again.

One dusky afternoon, as you tidied Dylan’s private library. There, you discovered a small, timeworn red box. Your heart stuttered as you opened it, revealing a glimmering engagement ring, its beauty dulled only by the years it had lain forgotten. How long had this been here?

Suddenly, Dylan entered. His eyes fell upon you holding the box, he strode over, snatching it from your grasp. His voice was sharp, but there was a flicker of confusion—almost embarrassment—beneath his irritation. “Who gave you permission to rummage through my things?”

His hands were unsteady as he shoved the box back into his desk drawer, turning away so you wouldn’t see the faint flush on his ears. “That… that was something I bought for a friend. Just a favor.”

How odd, you mused, for someone to buy an engagement ring on behalf of a friend?