On a deep night when the rain fell in steady streams, he came to her again.

“St–stop… ahh…”

With a frail whimper, she tried desperately to push the man away. But he showed no intention of lifting his lips from her collarbone.

Her resistance only seemed to make his mouth move against her more insistently.

“Mmh…!”

The tingling that began low in her belly slowly crept upward, spreading until it consumed her entire body.

Breti clutched the bedsheet tightly, struggling to shake off the sensations flooding through her body. Everywhere the man’s lips touched burned as though seared by flame.

She barely managed to stifle another moan that threatened to escape at the dizzying rush. Yet his caresses showed no restraint, teasing her as if to mock her futile resistance.

All she could do was writhe weakly beneath his touch, her body twisting helplessly in response.

“Mmh…!”

The moment his hand slid smoothly down her waist and slipped between her thighs, Breti’s back arched high in a sweeping curve.

Watching her reaction, a faint glimmer of pleasure lit the man’s face.

“You said to stop, but your body tells the truth, Breti.”

“Ahh… p-please…”

Her plea for him to stop never left her lips, swallowed down before it could escape. Under his unabashed touch, her body went limp, like a towel soaked through with water.

“Jena.”

“Mmnn…”

He murmured her middle name against her hair, brushing a soft kiss over her locks.
Jena—meaning “little bird.”

In the Pensia Empire, a middle name was held sacred, never to be spoken by anyone save direct family or a future mate. And yet… why had she revealed hers to this man?

“My little bird, Jena.”

“Ahh…”

Had her middle name always sounded so sinful?
Or was it simply because it came from his lips?

Whatever the reason, the instant he spoke it, the name felt tainted—stripped of innocence and steeped in a provocative heat.

His touch grew bolder, more shameless.

“Y-Your Highness… j-just a moment…”

Though it was not unusual for her to feel as if she might melt under his hands, tonight the sensation was unlike any other.

As though he were a beast hungering for every part of her, he seemed a different man entirely.
By day, he had been so cold and merciless toward her—so why was he like this now?

‘Could it be…’

That the man who devoured her so greedily was his true self?

‘You’re insane.’

Only madness could give rise to such thoughts.
Realizing how presumptuous she was being, letting her heart run ahead of her, Breti squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Stop. You must stop here, Breti.’
‘No matter how you feel, anything beyond this is forbidden.’

Even if the world deemed all other bonds acceptable, this one could never be.

Breti knew that better than anyone.

Because to him, she was…

“My little bird.”

“Ahh… mmh…!”

“My doll.”

Yes, a doll.

She was nothing more than a doll, playing the role of his false sister, Laterna, at his command. And the man who desired that doll—was none other than her false brother.
Karsten.

💙💙💙 💙💙💙

A few months earlier, Breti had been working as a maid in Aurora, a rather lavish inn at the southern edge of the White Duchy.

A maid, in name only.

In truth, she was not paid fairly for her labor.

“Clean all these windows. And make sure your filthy fingerprints don’t show.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

For Breti, life at the Aurora Inn was akin to slavery. The crushing debt that her father had left behind before his death had sealed her fate.

In truth, the laws of the White Duchy did not stipulate that children should inherit their parents’ debts. In fact, there was a statute specifically forbidding it, designed to protect children left behind.

However, the innkeepers of Aurora had twisted the law to their advantage. They had forced her father to sign a falsified loan document.

The moment he died, Breti was reduced to a servant, bound to the inn and condemned to menial labour for the rest of her life.

“Why aren’t you here already!?”

The sudden shriek shattered the quiet as she wiped down the window. Mistress Aba’s sharp, merciless voice made the other nearby servants flinch and glance over warily.

Clutching her rag, Breti hurried over. The instant she drew close, Aba’s hand lashed out and struck her cheek with a stinging slap.

“Are you deaf? How many times must I call you before you come?”

“I… I’m sorry, Mistress.”

Aba gestured sharply toward the window, her eyes cold and cutting.

“Did you forget what I told you? Be careful not to leave your filthy fingerprints all over.”

“Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry.”

Unsure whether the smudge was her own or Aba’s, Breti quickly wiped the glass clean.
Aba’s gaze swept over her with open disdain.

“Useless trash.”

That was how she spoke of Breti—as if the girl herself were some foul thing.
Trash. Loathsome creature. Parasite.
To Aba, Breti was the very embodiment of all that was base and contemptible.

Yet outside the inn, people saw her differently.
The villagers could not help but draw in their breath at the sight of her.

With eyes of deep, vivid green and hair the color of honeyed wheat, her beauty was far too refined for someone of common birth. Not only her appearance but her graceful, composed manner drew gazes wherever she went.

Her dazzling presence stirred curiosity, and more than a few whispers.

“There are ways you could put that pretty face to good use, you know. Want me to tell you?”

In particular, Dylan—the eldest son of Mistress Aba and heir to the inn—showed an unhealthy amount of interest in Breti.

Whenever his mother wasn’t around and Breti was alone, he would corner her, harassing her with his hands.

Just as always, his fingers crept over her body today, brushing against her in places that made her skin crawl as though insects were crawling beneath it.

Watching from nearby, Daphne—Breti’s dearest friend and fellow worker—could only look on helplessly, her eyes filled with pity.

There was nothing she could do but pray the ordeal would end quickly.

Summoning what little strength she had, Breti tried to push him away.

“P-please, stop.”

“What, acting coy when I know you like it?”

Ignoring her faint resistance, Dylan stroked her waist, his touch slow and deliberate. Breti bit down hard on her lower lip, her trembling fingers clutching the edge of her sleeve.

And then—

Slap!

“You insolent wretch!”

A sharp voice rang out: It was Mistress Aba’s.

Breti clutched her burning cheek and collapsed to the floor.

“So ungrateful.”

Breti quickly realised what had happened.

Mistress Aba must have caught Dylan harassing her, and, overcome with rage, hit Breti without saying a word.

It wasn’t the first time. Scenes like this had happened too many times before.

By then, Dylan had already slipped away, leaving Breti alone to deal with the consequences.

“How dare you try to seduce someone else’s precious son?”

Mistress Aba raised her hand again, ready to strike.

Her cheek stung already from the first blow.
Another was coming.

‘Better this than his hands.’

Breti thought bitterly. It was a cruel truth—that being struck was less unbearable than being touched.

Just before her cheek could burn again, a low voice cut through the air.

“Enough.”

A strong hand seized Aba’s wrist.

At the same time, with a dull thud, a thick leather pouch landed heavily at her feet.

Startled, she turned.

A man in a shabby hood stood there, his face shadowed.

“What is this?”

“The one willing to pay, for the girl you call insolent.”