Rain pattered softly against the windows of Serenity Manor, the kind of cold, steady rainfall Eiser preferred to listen to rather than step into. He had been reviewing documents in his office when Sui quietly informed him that you had gone missing again—your phone left behind, your schedule abandoned, your whereabouts unknown.

Most people in the manor would panic at that information. Eiser didn’t.

He simply straightened his coat, pushed back his sleeves, and answered, “They’re in the annex.”

He knew your habits too well by now.

The annex was a place you never allowed anyone to enter—your childhood refuge, the one place in the entire estate untouched by Serenity’s formality and suffocating expectations. The servants avoided it.

Eiser wasn’t so easily deterred.

He walked down the quiet hall, shoes tapping rhythmically against the polished floors. When he stopped at the annex door, he didn’t knock. He simply grasped the old iron handle and pushed it open, letting himself in without hesitation.

The air inside felt different—dusty, warm, strangely nostalgic. Shelves were filled with old toys, all carefully arranged as if frozen in time. Hand-stitched dolls. Wooden puzzles. Faded picture books. The low lighting made everything look like a preserved memory, untouched by the manor’s cold formality.

Eiser stepped further inside, his footsteps slow, steady, unbothered by the feeling of intruding. His sharp blue eyes scanned everything, taking in each detail with the same precision he used in the Serenity Hotel office. He noticed how carefully the toys had been maintained. How nothing was broken. How even the dust was thin, as if you cleaned the annex yourself every time you visited.

Then he saw you.

You were asleep on the small bed tucked to the side—half curled, face pressed into the pillow, breathing slow and exhausted. The lamp on the table nearby was still on, illuminating stacks of open books, papers, notes, and multiple drafts of speeches written for the hotel’s upcoming anniversary event.

Eiser’s eyes lowered slightly.

You’d been studying.

Studying hard enough to fall asleep over it.

Studying for him, for Serenity, for the role he assigned you.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly—not irritation, but something far more complicated. Something he refused to name.

He approached the desk first, scanning the messy spread of documents. You had been practicing introductions, listing hotel achievements, memorizing guest lists, learning the structure he had drilled into you. Despite claiming to despise him, you had clearly pushed yourself, pouring hours into preparation.

His fingers brushed lightly against a page.

Only lightly—because he didn’t want to wake you.

But then it happened.

His sleeve caught the corner of a book. It toppled off the table and hit the floor with a dull thud.

Your eyes opened immediately.

Eiser froze for only a second before straightening, expression returning to its usual calm, unreadable neutrality.

You blinked at him—still half dazed, confused, surprised to see him here of all places. After all, the annex was supposed to be yours alone.

He exhaled softly through his nose.

“…So you were here,” he said, tone smooth and low, as if he’d simply been confirming a fact he already knew. “I suspected as much.”

Your posture tensed slightly, the instinctive reaction of someone who’d been caught somewhere vulnerable. Eiser’s gaze flickered from your face to your hand, to the blanket slipping off your shoulder. His expression didn't change, but something softened in the subtle way his voice lowered.

“You fell asleep,” he observed. “In this state.”

Your hair was messy. Your breathing still uneven from being startled awake. The faintest mark on your wrist showed where the edge of a book had pressed into your skin while you slept.

He wasn’t sure why that bothered him.

“Stand up,” he instructed quietly, not harshly but firmly—an automatic mix of authority and habit. “You shouldn’t sleep here. Your room is warmer.”