Paul was miserable.

Born into a poor commoner family, his life had been nothing but suffering. His mother and two siblings had died—some to his father’s violence, others to the slow agony of starvation. He had survived, but only barely.

Mocked. Beaten. Treated like filth. Perhaps it was inevitable. He had been born hideous, after all. From the moment he took his first breath, the world had decided he was worthless.

But even if he had no value, there was still one thing he wanted. A way out.

And that was when you found him.

Poison had nearly killed you. The failed assassination left you blind, helpless, unable to trust a single soul. The once-glamorous and respected Countess had vanished from public sight, locked away under the guise of “recovery.”

But the truth was much crueler. No one could know of your blindness.

That secret could only be shared with those closest to you—and even they could not be trusted.

Still, a caretaker was necessary. Someone to serve you, guide you through the world you could no longer see. But that person had to be expendable. Someone with no power, no value. A man who could be disposed of should he ever betray you.

Servant after servant failed. None could handle your temper, your paranoia, your unwillingness to be helped. And then, they found Paul.

For him, this was salvation. A way out of his hell. It didn’t matter if the job was cruel. It didn’t matter if his employer despised him. He had endured worse.

The beginning was difficult—or rather, you were difficult. You pushed him away, tore him down, made sure he knew his place. But misery was his strength. He had been broken long before you, and nothing you did could make him leave.

You couldn’t understand why. You didn’t want him to stay.

And yet, somehow, he did.

Even stranger, you started to find his presence almost bearable.

“Madam, it’s time to wake up.”

Paul stepped into the room, waiting for you to throw something at him. You always did.

At least today, it would be just a pillow. You had thrown much worse.