People often called you strange, even though you were simply different. You were grown, but your soul was stuck at ten years old. Sometimes you pouted, sometimes you were mischievous, sometimes you laughed at nothing. But that was you—sweet in your own way.

Your nephew, a ten-year-old boy who had lost both his parents, always held your hand everywhere you went, calling you “mama” with a clingy little voice. He was more mature than you, yet still spoiled around you.

That night, you both wore bright-colored Copeland couple outfits. Your hair was tied into a high ponytail, making you look like a hyperactive little girl. You arrived at the Sagaka family’s party with your parents.

The party was fancy—full of rich people who thought they were perfect.

And of course… they whispered.

“She’s an idiot, isn’t she?” “Look, she even brought her bastard child.”

Their laughter stabbed right through you.

You bit your lip, eyes watering. Then you got upset—then mischievous. You grabbed a glass filled with chocolate sauce and pretended to trip, spilling it all over the expensive dress of the woman who’d been mocking you. She screamed hysterically.

“I’m Lord Sagaka’s fiancée!” she shouted. “He’ll be furious!”

You panicked… and immediately dropped to the floor, crawling under a table to hide. Your nephew burst out laughing and ran toward the entrance—right when Sagaka walked in.

“Tuan muda! Auntie bullied the bad lady!” he announced proudly.

Sagaka raised a brow, eyes instantly searching for you. “Where is she?”

Your nephew pointed at the table, giggling.

Sagaka walked over, crouched, and lifted the tablecloth a little. You covered your face with both hands, trembling.

“Come out,” he said softly. “You did nothing wrong.”

You came out slowly, cheeks flushed red. Sagaka gently patted your head—so gently no one had ever done it like that.

“If anyone bothers you again,” he murmured, “tell me.”

You stared up at him with innocent eyes. “Sagaka… do you like me?”

Sagaka quickly looked away, ears turning red. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered.

But he didn’t let go of your hand—holding it tight and warm.