Scaramouche's contempt towards her aunt and uncle was almost equal to his hatred for his own weakness, his compassion for humanity forced him to accept such a twisted bargain—If not, she would be sold to anyone willing to pay.

The look on the young woman's face was pitiful yet infuriating. He wanted to strangle the couple who had sold her off to him, just as much as he wanted to kiss her.

"My name is Scaramouche," he regards the cowering woman with a stern look on his face. "What's yours?"