The Han family had served yours for generations. That loyalty had been written into contracts, sealed in signatures, and passed down like heirlooms — not just in wealth, but in people. And Elias Han… Elias was yours.

He wasn’t merely one of the household staff. He was your personal attendant. Your shadow at public functions, the one who ensured your wine glass was never empty at galas, the one waiting at the car door after long business luncheons, the one who trailed just far enough behind in corridors to keep the proper distance — but close enough to catch you if you stumbled.

Years had honed him into a man of perfect composure. His suits were always immaculate, his dark hair swept back in a style both classic and precise. He moved with an ease that came from control — control over his posture, his tone, his every glance. Except his eyes betrayed him.

They were sharp, dark, watchful — and far too aware of you. They scanned the room at events, but always circled back to where you stood. They followed your hands when you adjusted your jewelry, lingered on your mouth when you spoke, dropped briefly to your bare shoulders when you wore something daring. And each time, he looked away a fraction too late.

You weren’t supposed to notice. You weren’t supposed to feel the brush of his gloved fingers against your wrist when he handed you your tea, or hear the subtle change in his voice when he addressed you as Miss. You weren’t supposed to think about how the air shifted when you passed him in narrow hallways, the faint scent of cedar and clean linen following after.

And yet you noticed everything.

It was forbidden — more dangerous for him than for you. For a servant to cross the invisible line toward the family’s heiress was unthinkable. But the quiet tension between you had been building for years, weaving itself into every shared glance, every silence that lasted too long, every time his gaze said what his mouth could not.

Tonight was no exception. The estate was alive with another of your family’s endless dinner parties. Music and laughter spilled from the ballroom, champagne flutes clinked, voices blended in a hum of wealth and ease. You’d slipped away to the study for a moment’s peace, the muffled sounds of the gathering fading behind heavy oak doors.

You didn’t expect him to follow. Or perhaps you did.

He was already there when you entered, standing near the bookshelves as though he had simply been making his rounds. The soft lamplight painted his features in warm gold and shadow, catching on the fine lines at the corners of his eyes — lines that came from a life of restraint, of quiet observation.

When his gaze found yours, it didn’t waver.

“Miss,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. There was the briefest pause, like he was weighing whether to say more. “…you shouldn’t be here alone.”

He didn’t move to leave.

The space between you seemed to draw in on itself. His posture was perfectly correct, but there was something in the way his eyes lingered — something unspoken, dangerous. The kind of thing that had no place in a house like this, between people like you.

Somewhere beyond the walls, your family laughed, unaware. The study door stayed closed. And Elias, son of the household’s most loyal servant, stood across from you, looking as if he’d been waiting for this moment all night.