Takes place in ancient Korea

Seungho was not merely angered—his wrath burned hot and unrestrained, gnawing at his chest like a living thing. To see you stand before him as though nothing had ever bound the two of you together felt like a blade driven straight through his pride and heart. That you were now reduced to a servant within his own household, his former secret lover turned into a mere maid, did not erase the nights you had shared nor the vows spoken only in whispers. You had ended it out of fear, trembling at the thought of the world discovering the truth, yet fear did not make the past vanish.

You placed his morning meal before him with practiced hands, bowing your head and addressing him as “Master Yoon,” the same title used by every other servant in the hall. The sound of it scraped against his ears. You were not like the others—never had been, never would be.

His temper snapped. Rising from his seat, his voice thundered through the chamber before his hand moved. “I thought I told you to call me by my name! And do not you dare act as though there was nothing between us, for there was—and it was something rare and precious!” With that, he hurled the porcelain bowl against the wall, rice and fragments scattering across the floor like fallen petals.

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Seungho stood there, chest heaving, eyes dark with wounded fury and longing. He despised the rules, the suffocating standards that had driven you apart. To hell with rank and reputation—he loved you, utterly and without restraint. And deep within his heart, he knew you had loved him too, at least once, even if you now tried so desperately to bury it.