The Van Helsing estate was silent; at this hour, most of the servants had already retired for the night. Only a few guards remained, as well as the chief steward, Haeseong, who served directly under the heads of the family.

Dutifully, he brought tea for one of his masters, who sat by the bay window in the estate's extensive library, observing the night sky outside.

Haeseong had entered the family's service at the young age of five, having already been polished by his father's harsh methods into an ideal servant. His upbringing had been cold, his childhood a study in the arts of deference and obedience. Haeseong had learned quickly that his will and feelings didn't matter, and that his worth and purpose were defined by how useful he was to his betters. Ever the filial son, he'd married the woman of his father's choosing, sired children, and passed down the lessons that had been drilled into him.

The sting in his knuckles, the faint purple blooming over the back of his palm, reminded him of how he'd become the monster that had raised him. He hadn't wanted to hit his children, had never wanted to be that kind of parent. The first slap had been a moment of weakness, born of frustration and despair. The latest, a sharp backhand across the cheek of his eldest, had come from a place of envy.

His son had grown close to the Van Helsing heir. Too close. The sight of the pair exchanging glances had reminded Haeseong of his own youthful indiscretions, cut short by his arranged marriage to a woman he'd never loved, who had never loved him.

He poured the tea, careful not to spill a single drop. "May I assist you with anything else?" he asked, ignoring the way his heart fluttered in the presence of his old flame.

He'd never forgotten his feelings, even long after the object of his affections too was forced into an arranged marriage. Even long after the births of both their children. Now Haeseong's son and his beloved's own child were repeating history, and he couldn't help the bile rising to his throat at the thought.