Holding it against her chest, she felt comforted. A faint, sweet scent lingered, just from the brief moment the young master’s hands had touched it.

‘How did he even know I ruined my uniform, and why did he bring me a new one?’

The head maid, Joan, was meticulous and capable, but also frightening. She could neither understand nor tolerate maids who failed to keep up. Moed, with her scatterbrained nature, was hardly someone Joan would ever approve of.

Only a month had passed since Moed joined the household, yet she already had a long list of reprimands.

So instead of asking for a new uniform, she’d tried to mend the ruined one just well enough that no one would notice—but by sheer luck, a new set had fallen into her hands.

‘He can be surprisingly considerate.’

He had a bit of a temper and was exceedingly unpredictable, yes… but his essence tasted wonderful, he slept well, and his face was very pretty, so such flaws hardly counted as flaws at all.

‘Still… getting scolded is scary.’

Even if the person doing the scolding smelled like the sweetest cake imaginable, terror was still terror. Firmly resolving to stay alert from now on, Moed clutched the armful of clothing to her chest and trotted out of the garden.

***

“What in the world was that about earlier?”

Johnny was utterly baffled. Although he had long since given up trying to understand Ersian, he could not in good conscience let this go without asking.

He had no idea why the young master had started the argument in the first place or why he had fetched a uniform from the servants’ supply room only to snatch it back and throw it away. Nothing made sense by Johnny’s standards.

“Get lost. My head hurts.”

“Young master, unless you explain, I won’t know how to respond properly next time.”

“I said get lost. Want to get hit before you go?”

“…I’ll just get lost.”

Johnny had no wish to face the challenge of standing up to a young master who was snarling and holding a teacup. Instead, he quietly stepped out of the room, folded his hands behind his back and stood before the closed door.

‘I knew it.’

Moments later, the sound of things breaking and smashing erupted from inside the room. Ersian had lost his temper again and was tearing the room apart. Considering that every door in the mansion was soundproofed, the force required to make that much noise was almost impressive.

“Haa—hah….”

Breathing heavily, Ersian collapsed onto the only intact sofa in the ruined room, trying to steady his breathing. His mind was as chaotic as the room he had destroyed, and at the center of it all was the maid with the fluffy hair.

Ersian squeezed his eyes shut and held his head. He had no idea why he couldn’t stop looking at that maid.

Actually, he did know. He knew exactly what was causing this wretched phenomenon. The mere memory of her face made him look down in disgust at his foolish arousal.

At some point, Ersian had started to fear going to sleep at night. It wasn’t because he imagined monsters lurking under the bed or in the wardrobe. The problem was the recurring dream that returned just when he thought he might forget it.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had begun, but it had started sometime around the beginning of the year. Since then, he had been plagued by strange dreams unlike anything he had ever experienced before; each one further disrupting his already fragile sleep.

The symptoms had continued for months, but he hadn’t taken them seriously. They weren’t particularly unpleasant; he had always suffered from mild insomnia and was accustomed to restless nights. A few er*tic dreams a month — he brushed these off, thinking perhaps he had finally developed the same sort of frustration that everyone else complained about.

The real problem began once summer settled in.

When the new maids were introduced to the annex, one of them caught his attention more than the others. It was her — that same maid — who began appearing in his er*tic dreams.

She had faint freckles across the bridge of her nose, plump, soft cheeks, small lips and gentle, doe-like eyes that drew him in time and again. From that night onwards, she appeared in his dreams, smiling sweetly before fading away.

Up until that point, he had been able to convince himself that it was harmless. He had never fixated on someone like that before, nor had he ever carried a stranger’s face into a dream. Yes, he would wake up flushed in the morning, with heat rolling down his back, but he told himself that he didn’t feel anything significant.

But everything changed afterwards.

A few days later, the maid reappeared and began to undress, layer by layer. It was as if she were in someone else’s dream, and her touch felt unsettlingly familiar.

Her movements were unmistakably similar to those of the faceless partner who had starred in his strange, l*st-soaked dreams for months.

That day, Ersian had his first ever wet dream. Awaking soaked and breathless, he realized that something was deeply and horribly wrong.

From then on, the maid featured in all his subsequent dreams.

When he lay back on his bed, she would smile shyly as she untied her apron and took off her uniform. Sometimes, she would simply lift her full skirt and crawl towards him on her knees.

There was nothing Ersian could do. He could only lie there helplessly and watch her small, calloused hands tug down his trousers. He watched her press her cheek against his fully hardened p*nis with quiet delight, and part her lips to mouth the dampened tip.

Regardless of whether it was a dream, doing something like that to someone who was completely unaware felt unbearably shameful. The whole thing was mortifying — humiliating and degrading. The mere thought of her mouth on him like that was so vivid and indecent that it twisted his stomach with disgust.

Ersian had tried everything to stop himself from dreaming.

He took half-body baths before going to sleep. He burned herbs said to promote deep sleep. He even pushed himself through unfamiliar exercises, only to become ill from overexertion.

But nothing freed him from the dreams.

As if mocking his efforts, the woman in his dreams became increasingly bold and decadent.

For a twenty-four-year-old virgin who had never experienced s*xual desire — his poor health, lack of body hair and repressed traumas had combined to create an aversion to people — these dreams were the first to reveal all kinds of pleasure to him.

He discovered that stroking the area where the gl*ns met the shaft made him writhe with pleasure.

He also found that his ears and n*pples could become erogenous zones.

He also learned that pressing behind his t*sticles caused him to lose all control.

But above all, he learned about the shape of a woman’s body — or more precisely, the maid’s body in his dreams.

Through these dreams, Ersian naturally absorbed the places she liked to be touched and how much stimulation she needed to climax.

She enjoyed nearly any caress, but especially when he spread his palm wide and kneaded her soft mound. When he gently tugged at the plump, protruding nub, she would shudder violently. And when he lifted her thighs and lapped at the heated place between them, she would squirt and cry out, trembling.

“Ha—ugh. D*mn it…”

At some point, Ersian realized that he had undone his trousers and was m*sturbating. He ground out a curse. But it was far too late — his body was already on fire.

He had never done this before. Shame surged up his throat, but the urgency of the pleasure quickly overpowered it.

His feverish body slid down the backrest of the sofa. Ersian rubbed the back of his head against the cushions as his hips jerked upwards. His brows tightened of their own accord and his jaw clenched. Behind his tightly shut eyelids, the peach-colored face — wet, flushed and trembling — kept rising to the surface.