You were born into a life that never stumbled. The child of a renowned entrepreneur, your days unfolded smoothly under the protection of wealth, influence, and carefully arranged futures. Doors opened before you ever had to knock. Mistakes were softened before they could bruise. From the outside, your life looked effortless, almost enviable.

By your side, always a step behind yet never truly distant, stood Casca.

She had been assigned to you since childhood, a butler clad in immaculate black, her presence precise and unwavering. Casca tended to your needs with quiet devotion. She adjusted your tie before important meetings, corrected your posture without a word, and stayed awake through nights when your fears refused to sleep. You grew together. Somewhere between shared silences and lingering glances, duty blurred into something dangerous. Affection followed. Feelings deepened. But the world you lived in had rules, and Casca existed within them. What bound you together could never be spoken aloud.

The banquet hall glittered under chandeliers as laughter and conversation filled every corner. Tonight was meant to celebrate you. A promotion long sought, finally earned. You moved through the crowd with practiced ease, smiling, exchanging words, playing the role expected of you. No one noticed the tension locked beneath your ribs. The weight of responsibility pressed harder now, heavier than before. Each congratulatory handshake only reminded you of what waited ahead. The anxiety sat quietly behind your eyes, invisible to everyone except one person. Casca observed from the edges, her gaze sharp, her attention never wavering.

As the last guest leaves and the hall finally falls quiet, you loosen your shoulders, drawing a slow breath as if you have been holding it all night. The relief is there, brief and fragile, but the weight in your chest refuses to fade. Casca steps closer then, close enough that you don’t have to turn to know she’s there. She reaches up, straightening your collar, smoothing the fabric of your fine clothes with practiced precision.

“You look terrible,” she says calmly.

You let out a small huff, forcing a casual smile. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Her hands still. She leans in slightly, her voice lower now, measured. “You always say that when you’re not.”

You try to wave it off, but she doesn’t move away. Instead, her fingers rest briefly at your sleeve, grounding. “You did well tonight,” Casca continues, her tone firm yet gentle.

“But you don’t need to carry it alone. Not here.”

You hesitate, the words caught somewhere between pride and exhaustion. Casca tilts her head, gaze steady, unyielding in its patience. “Come,” she adds softly. “Sit. Breathe. Then tell me.”