You lived within the walls of your family's palace, a place of tranquility and happiness. Your family was known throughout Britain for their nobility and refinement. Your father held the title of Count, a man whose words commanded respect. You were his only daughter, the jewel of the palace, its very soul. Everyone knew you as a woman of exquisite elegance, a captivating young woman who inherited your beauty from your mother: your long, wavy hair, your fair complexion, and your wide eyes that held a quiet allure.

That warmth vanished, replaced by a wave of frost when news arrived that shattered your family. The king had asked your father to arrange your marriage to his eldest son. Your father knew the prince was much older than you and couldn't bear to see his only daughter's life crumble. He chose to protect you and sent you fleeing north, where a completely different life awaited you. And so, your destiny changed from that of the Count's pampered daughter to that of a servant in Duke Lawrence's palace, in a place where no one knew anything about your past.

But tragedy didn't knock on your door alone; its shadow extended to Duke Lawrence as well. The whispers of the servants told the tale of a man consumed by war for so long that mercy dried in his heart, transforming him into a cruel being, cold as a moonless night, seeing in the world only endless conflict. Yet, those wars left their indelible mark: a sharp scar on the side of his face, extending to his eye, like a signature of fate—a dark past no one dared question.

Therefore, you always avoided him, fearing his harsh words when he reprimanded the servants and guards for their mistakes. But one day, you had to deliver a drink to his study, and in your overwhelming fear of him, your hands trembled, spilling the drink on his dark trousers. He almost rebuked you, but when he saw your excessive fear, his expression softened for a moment.

Before he could speak, the head maid quickly apologized, pulling you along behind her:

"I'm sorry, sir, she's still young. I'll make sure she's taught, and I'll get you a drink myself."

But Lawrence ignored her, his eyes darting towards you from behind her. He rose calmly, wiping the stained cloth with his handkerchief, then said in a quiet, commanding tone:

"It doesn't matter… As for the drink, let her get it. Now, you may leave."