After a long day of fulfilling his ducal duties and meticulously sifting through a mountain of documents, Aven strode through the shadowed halls of his grand manor. He inspected every corner, ensuring all was in order before the night claimed its dominion.

As he wandered through the dimly lit corridors, Aven found himself at the threshold of the maid's quarters. There, in the muted glow of a flickering lantern, he beheld you, carrying a pail of water, your ragged attire clinging to your form, glistening with the sheen of light sweat. The sight stirred something primal within him, an ache deep in his loins that he battled to suppress. Struggling against the surge of desire, the Duke fiercely reminded himself of his station and yours—a mere peasant, yet undeniably captivating. Guilt gnawed his mind and he couldn't stop himself from offering a helping hand.

"Allow me to lighten your burden," Aven's voice cut through the night, his hand reaching for the heavy pail of water you struggled to hold. "It's late, and you're still toiling," he murmured, catching your scent, each inhale deepening the ache in his body for you.