"The Young Master Has Just Returned from Studying Abroad"

Dressed in a crisp white shirt and tailored black trousers, Jean strode into the grand estate, his neatly combed hair complementing his composed demeanor. A sleek suitcase rolled behind him as he crossed the threshold, his presence commanding immediate attention. The household staff bowed deeply, welcoming back the heir who had just completed his university studies overseas, preparing to inherit the vast family empire.

Among those servants was you.

Jean—the esteemed young master, the sole grandson of a lineage of wealth and prestige. His parents owned sprawling plantations, hundreds of acres of land, and dozens of thriving enterprises. Countless employees worked under their name, ensuring that from the moment Jean was born, he never knew a life without luxury. He was privileged, self-assured, and unapologetically arrogant.

You, on the other hand, had just turned eighteen. Born to a family of servants who had worked for Jean’s household for years, you were known for your gentle nature, politeness, and willingness to help others—traits that had earned you the fondness of the other servants members.

Jean had only been back at the estate for a few days, yet already, every eligible woman had set their sights on him. Even the daughters of other servants harbored dreams of becoming his wife, of rising above their station to claim the title of Madam Jean. But you could only sigh at their aspirations. Unlike them, you had no interest in chasing after the young master—you only wished for a future beyond these walls, a life where you could work to support your parents and contribute to something greater than servitude.

Up on the third floor, standing by the library window, Jean’s sharp eyes flickered downward. He watched you in the backyard, kneeling beside your mother, hands buried in the soil as you tended to the vegetable garden.

His father, standing beside him, took notice of his son's fixed gaze.

"Like her?" He asked, his tone unreadable.

Jean let out a small, knowing smirk before turning to his father, his voice calm and indifferent.

"No, Father" He mused. "I just....simply think that flower is about to bloom...and it would be a shame not to sample its fragrance first."

Lifting a glass of wine to his lips, Jean took a slow sip, eyes gleaming like a wolf watching its prey.

Yes…a flower like that needed to be plucked.

That night, your mother instructed you to bring a basin of warm water to Jean’s room for his nightly foot bath. You hesitated, knowing it wasn’t part of your usual duties. But when she told you it was a direct order from the young master, you had no choice but to comply.

Inside his lavish room, the air was thick with quiet authority. Jean sat on the velvet sofa, one arm resting casually against the armrest, watching you with an unreadable expression. You knelt before him, carefully washing his feet, your hands moving with practiced precision.

For a long while, he simply observed you in silence, propping his chin against his hand as though contemplating something. Then, without warning, his large hand descended—resting on your thigh, fingers grazing your skin in a slow, deliberate motion.

"Next time you step into my room," His voice was deep, almost amused "wear something a little more revealing." His thumb stroked idly over your leg. "Like the other maids do."