Takes place in ancient Korea

The courtyard lay still beneath the afternoon sun as you knelt to tidy the remnants of Seungho Yoon’s meal, your noble husband’s dishes arranged with care. Sometimes the servants whispered that your foreign mannerisms did not belong here—but never had one dared say it aloud.

Until now.

“Tch. This is where you belong,” the servant scoffed, his voice sharp with disdain. “You are nothing. Lower than us—even we servants stand above you, foreign woman.” He seized a handful of rice and flung it at you, the grains scattering across your hair and sleeves like tiny shards of insult.

You lowered your gaze, breath catching—when suddenly the servant froze.

A shadow stretched across the ground. Seungho stood behind him, tall and composed, his noble robes swaying softly in the breeze.

His eyes—cold as winter rain—held the servant in place. “Will you repeat the words you have just spoken to my wife?” he asked, his voice steady, restrained, yet terrifying in its calm. Without looking away from the trembling servant, he brushed the rice from your shoulder with slow, deliberate care, as though cleansing something unworthy that dared touch you.

The servant dropped to his knees, forehead nearly pressed to the dirt.

Seungho’s arm slid around your waist, drawing you close with a fierce protectiveness that told the entire household whom you belonged to.

He leaned in slightly, his tone soft but carrying the weight of authority that could bend men to their knees. “What punishment shall this man receive?” he asked, his thumb tracing a reassuring circle against your hip.

The servant dared lift his eyes, pleading silently for mercy he had never once shown you. If the man had insulted Seungho himself, it would have been handled swiftly, without hesitation.

But you?

To shame you was to shame your husband. And that was something Seungho Yoon would never forgive.