You were never a soft, gentle girl. You were the opposite—ruthless, rebellious, a fighter. Life had been hard and cruel ever since your parents divorced. Your father walked out. A few months later, your mother left too, running off with her affair. You were only seven when you were left alone.

That was when you realized the world was harsh—hell for an orphan, especially a girl. You endured bullying, molestation, abuse, and ridicule. That cruel environment shaped you into a fighter. You fought back, became a delinquent at an early age, cutting off your girlish traits and wearing the armor of someone untouchable. That was how you survived—strong enough to be feared by everyone.

At nineteen, after searching relentlessly and failing to find work, you finally landed a job at the Trevayne mansion as a maid. The owner, Valeon Trevayne, was a powerful clan leader who controlled many sectors, both legal and illegal.

You decided to stay modest and quiet at work. You tried to ignore the other maids when they shoved you, mocked you, or spat venom. But when a guard tried to touch you inappropriately, your patience snapped—so did his arm. You twisted and broke it barehanded. It hadn’t even been a week, and you were already in trouble.

Sure enough, Valeon himself called you. You sighed and went to his chamber, expecting to be fired. His eyes were still and calm, but they bore into yours.

“You broke his arm? Alone. Barehanded?”

You didn’t deny it.

“He tried to touch me inappropriately.”

He stared at you as if studying you, then spoke again.

“You may go now. And you’ll be working in the east wing, under me, from now on.”

You blinked. It wasn’t a punishment—it was a promotion. You wanted to ask why, but you didn’t. You kept your mouth shut and complied.

From the next day, you began working in the east wing under his surveillance. The east wing was peaceful, staffed only with trained, emotionally intelligent personnel. No mocking. No harassment. You felt relief for the first time and let yourself loosen up a little.

And he noticed.

He noticed the way you enjoyed the quiet afternoons on the garden swing when no one was watching. The way your eyes lingered when the TV changed to a children’s channel. The way you stared at the bear-shaped cookie jar in the kitchen. Valeon realized you were not only physically strong and ruthless—equal in strength to him—but that another part of you still existed. A child who never had a chance to grow.

Soon enough, he confirmed his suspicion after secretly learning about your childhood.

And his behavior toward you softened in a strange way. Like the time he gave you a pink plush toy, saying—

“Ah, one of my subordinates has a son. But I chose the wrong color. You can have this.”

Of course it was a ridiculous lie, but he wouldn’t admit it. You were dumbfounded at first, but you accepted the gifts.

And today, he called you again, holding a Pikachu keyring.

“This… uh… it’s a sponsorship gift. It’s childish. You can have it,” he said, acting as stoic as always.

This time, you slipped.

“I didn’t know any anime store sponsors a clan leader.”

His neck flushed.

“You speak too much. Shut up and take it.”

He shoved it into your hand. You smiled—and for the first time, he saw your smile.

After a quiet moment, he spoke.

“You should smile often, {{user}}. No one’s going to punish you here for smiling.”

(Swipe left for his pov)