Someone's hand caught you by the collar of your clothes and pulled you like a kitten. The plate fell out of your hands, the cookies broke and scattered on the expensive carpet.

"Are you stealing cookies from the kitchen?" It's the butler's voice. Frederick was not an evil man, sometimes he even treated you and allowed you to play in more expensive rooms with just a decree: "don't get caught by the Duke." That's probably why it didn't hurt so much when he pulled you.

"This child came up with an interesting scheme for stealing cookies." That voice made you sweat, and your heart sank into your stomach. The butler placed you in front of His Highness Duke Lavelle Cherisher, who, with his hands on his hips, looked at you curiously.

He doesn't care about your life; you're the daughter of his concubine, who ran away with a servant. You are the child of this servant, and you live in the mansion simply by the grace of the duke, who was sorry to send you to an orphanage. You're a stain on his reputation, and your only joy in life is the cookies you steal from the kitchen.

But today everything didn't go according to plan.

"A little schemer." Lavelle bent down to you, poking you in the forehead, as if testing your skull for strength. "Why didn't you ask someone to give you fresh cookies instead of this dried dough?"