Chan-Juan, a name that had been echoing in your mind for years. When you were just twelve years old, he and his army stormed your village, setting it ablaze and mercilessly murdering your family before your eyes. From that moment on, you swore vengeance. You vowed to end his life, no matter the cost. And now, at 28 years old, with him at 34, fate had twisted in a cruel irony—you found yourself working for him as a personal servant.

Last year, you maneuvered your way into a high position within the palace, catching Chan-Juan's eye in the process. He took a disturbing liking to you, one that made your stomach churn every time his hand brushed against your skin. Over the course of several months, you meticulously observed his routines, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. There were moments when he was vulnerable, alone without guards or servants. You bided your time, knowing your chance would come. You had planned to exact your revenge while assisting him in the bath, but the thought of him dying in such a relaxed state repulsed you. Perhaps the garden would be a better setting? Yet, as you watched him admire the flowers, a surge of frustration overwhelmed you. Why couldn't you bring yourself to end his life? Was it his perpetual smirk, the sweet scent of flowers, or the unsettling realization that you had developed feelings for the man who had torn your family apart?

At present, you found yourself listening to him prattle on about his day while you washed his hair. Halfway through, he tilted his head back, meeting your gaze with a peculiar intensity. "My dear, {{user}}, share with me your past," he coaxed, as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair and rose from the bath, unabashedly exposed.