Clyde's POV

I was in a restless sleep when the coldest splash of water jolted me awake. I shot up instantly, gasping, only to see my master standing a few feet away, holding a bucket. It didn’t take much to realize she was the one who had drenched me.

Shivering, I frowned softly, my body trembling from the chill. She glared at me with a look of disgust before stepping closer and slapping me so hard I fell onto the cold, hard floor.

“You wench! I told you to wake up early to prepare my luggage!” she screamed, throwing the bucket at me. It struck my head, and I silently winced in pain.

“Do your job properly!” she barked. I nodded quickly, knowing I couldn’t endure another beating. But her fiery glare told me one might still be coming.

She grabbed my ear and dragged me roughly out of the dungeon and into the mansion’s kitchen. The pain was unbearable, but all I could do was clutch her hand weakly, hoping she’d let go.

When we reached the kitchen, she shoved me onto the floor. My knees scraped the tiles, and I felt blood trickling down as my back slammed hard against the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of me, leaving me gasping.

The maids and cooks present watched in silent pity, but none dared to intervene. They all knew better than to cross the young duchess. Their sympathetic gazes only made me feel worse—like a useless pawn in her cruel game. I tried crawling away, my tears blurring my vision.

“Now get up and do your goddamn job, you garbage!” she spat before storming out of the room. I struggled to stand, but my body refused to cooperate. No one helped. No one even asked if I was okay.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally stood and limped toward the sink full of dirty dishes. My tears flowed freely now, though I tried to suppress them. The sting of dishwashing soap on the fresh cuts on my palm made me wince, but I continued working through the pain.

A guard entered, calling my name. “The duchess wants you in her room,” he informed me before leaving just as quickly.

I wiped my hands on a cloth and made my way upstairs, ignoring the throbbing pain in my knees. The thought of another beating clouded my mind as I approached her room.

I knocked on the door, and her sharp voice gave me permission to enter. As I stepped inside, I saw her sitting before a mirror while another maid tied the laces of her heels.

“Ah, there you are,” she said, barely glancing at me.

“Bitch, what’s taking you so long with my shoes?!” she snapped at the maid before kicking her aside. I averted my gaze as the poor girl scrambled to apologize and fled the room.

Now it was just the duchess and me. Fear coursed through me as I kept my eyes downcast.

“Go pack my best dresses. I need to impress the prince,” she commanded, fluttering her lashes at her reflection.

As I began gathering her favorite gowns from the massive wardrobe, I couldn’t help but think about how unflattering her thick makeup looked. She was naturally beautiful, but her family insisted on layers of cosmetics that only masked her features.

“What are you staring at?!” she snapped, pulling me from my thoughts. I quickly bowed in apology and resumed packing.

Once I’d finished, I took her luggage outside for the staff to load into the limousine. When I returned, she handed me a box.

“It’s clothes,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You look like a beggar, and I’m tired of it. Change after I leave. And don’t celebrate too much—I’ll only be gone for a week.”

Her grip tightened on my chin, her nails digging into my skin. “Understand?” she growled.

I nodded, trembling as she released me. Without another word, I hurried out of the room, leaning against the door to steady my nerves.

Later, as I mopped the hallways, my injured palm stung with every movement. It wasn’t unbearable, though—I had treated it, and my knees, earlier in the dungeon, which I called my room. It was the only place I’d ever known peace, even if it was cold and dark.

“Clyde,” a maid called, approaching with a friend. “We’ll take over here. Just deal with the trash bags.”

I gave them a small smile of gratitude, bowing slightly before heading to the back door to collect the garbage.

There were four bags, but I could only manage two at a time because of my injured hand. I carried them into the forest, toward the deep pit where we disposed of trash.

As I walked, something caught my eye: fresh bloodstains on the leaves. My heart raced. Someone was hurt—and nearby.

I followed the trail and spotted a bloody handprint on a tree. Behind it, I found a man slumped against the trunk, clutching a wound on his side. His breathing was ragged, and his face was pale.

Before I could react, he swung a sword at me. I raised my hands in surrender, and he lowered the weapon, clearly too weak to fight.

I hesitated for a moment but stepped closer to help.

“What… are you doing?” he asked weakly, his voice deep and strained.

“Helping you,” I replied, trembling.

After some effort, I managed to support him as we made our way back to the mansion. My mind was racing. Was I making the right choice?

To be continued.

Ryder’s POV

It was painful—that’s how it felt when that fùcking bastard stabbed me in my abdomen. My father’s enemy ambushed us in the middle of the forest and, fùck, I'm glad I had my sword to kill some of them. But we were outnumbered, and while my men tried to protect me, I, on the other hand, went through the forest to escape.

My wound on my gut was preventing me from running fast, but nonetheless, I was glad that I outran them. I walked for as long as I could muster and didn’t stop until I gave in. I slumped against a tree and proceeded to cover my wound as I felt my body draining every bit of energy I had. It was then a boy came to me—he looked harmless, but nonetheless, I swung my sword at him. I could clearly see the fear in his eyes, and as he raised his hands, I just slumped my sword down, unable to hold it any longer.

I was shocked when the boy suddenly helped me cover my wound, but I just glared at him. I didn’t know if he was purposely doing it to tempt me or if he just really wanted to help. He looked like he didn’t know who I was—there was no reaction from him when he saw me, only worry.

I asked what he was doing, and he answered me with the softest voice I’d ever heard. He was honestly pretty to be a boy. At first, I thought he was a lady—but I was wrong, and I was in awe of how beautiful he is. He tried to lift me up, but I was heavy, so I helped him to stand me up with his support.

The pain was unbearable while I walked, and the way the boy rubbed my back, as if it could make the pain go away, made my heart skip a beat. He looked so innocent and caring and very nice.

Fùck, what am I thinking?

We arrived at the back door, and the boy slowly opened it before carefully walking inside silently. I think he was sneaking me in, and I supported him on that since I didn’t want to risk being recognized by anyone here.

“Keep quiet,” he whispered softly, and I swear, my dìck suddenly hardened just by hearing it. I was literally in pain, and somehow my body had the audacity to feel aroused just because of a soft whisper. What the fùck.

We crossed some hallways, and luckily no one saw us. We walked down the stairs heading toward the dungeon. After the boy opened the door, we entered and he laid me down on a very awful-looking bed before closing the door.

He came towards me, worry evident in his eyes.

“Let me treat your wound...” he said and started to unbutton the top of my shirt, but I looked at him with a frown. His face turned red.

“I—” he started, but no words came out of his mouth, probably feeling embarrassed for what he did. Thinking that he didn’t want to be the one to take off my clothes, I then did it myself for his sake. I could feel his eyes glued to me, and honestly, I felt proud showing him my body—and I didn’t even know why.

I took my top off slowly and carefully before laying back on the bed while grunting in pain. He came closer to look at my wound, and he looked scared—he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to talk, but somehow he kept closing his mouth, as if he was preventing himself from speaking.

I closed my eyes, fighting the pain, when I heard him walking away, only to return later with some things I heard him placing beside me. I opened my eyes and saw him wetting a clean towel before wiping the blood off my wound.

“Fùck…” I grunted, and the boy, in return, looked at me with an apologetic expression. It was painful, but if this was the only way to treat my wound, I had to bear it. After wiping the blood away, he started to apply some kind of ointment—and it fùcking burned.

I was restraining myself from pushing him away, but fùck, I had to bear it. He was about to apply a second layer of the ointment when I punched the bed, causing the boy to jump in surprise. He seemed scared, but he looked determined to treat my wound—and I honestly thanked him for that.

I was breathing heavily when he finished applying the ointment. I opened my eyes and saw him wrapping my waist with a large bandage. After bandaging my wound, he started putting all the things back into the aid box he had. I closed my eyes, trying to relax, when I felt a soft hand on my face. I opened my eyes and immediately grabbed his hand, causing him to look startled and scared.

I was confused why he touched my face at first, until I realized I had a cut on my right cheek.

My grip on his hand loosened, letting him apply ointment to my cut. After doing so, he started to clean the towel soaked with my blood as well as the ointments he had taken. And before he could leave my side, I took his hand, which made him look at me.

“Thank you...” I muttered, and I was glad he heard it because he gave me a small, soft smile in return. I let go of his hand, which allowed him to finally leave, and only then did I close my eyes, taking a rest from everything that had happened.

•

I opened my eyes, and the boy was no longer in the room. I slowly sat up and winced in pain because of my wound, which was now treated well—all thanks to that boy.

Come to think of it, I didn’t even know his name. I made a note in the back of my mind to ask him when he returned. I looked around and inspected the room—it was mostly dark, and only the small light above me gave any illumination. Judging by the looks of it, the boy must just be a worker in this place.

My eyes then landed on a tray of food just beside me. I picked it up, and It honestly didn’t look bad. I ate it up, quite surprised at how hungry I was, because I finished it all in a short amount of time. I felt content and was about to lie down on the uncomfortable mattress when the door opened. It was the boy—and he looked tired. He looked in my direction, and I suddenly felt myself getting angry when I saw a cut on his lip.

“What happened?” My voice hardened, and I saw him looking at me with a frown.

“I said, what happened?” I repeated, but the boy only looked at the floor, not wanting to meet my eyes. I sighed for a moment before letting the question go, since he most likely wouldn’t answer me.

He suddenly went to a drawer beside me and took out an old-looking notebook and a ballpen before writing something in it. He showed me the notebook, and I frowned when I read the question:

*Are you okay?*

“I’m fine. Why are you writing? Don’t you speak?” I asked, and the boy just looked at me, biting the inside of his cheek, hurt evident in his eyes. It seemed like he didn’t want to talk about it.

“What’s your name?” I asked softly, and the boy soon went back to writing in his notebook.

*Clyde.*

His name is Clyde. What a unique name.

“Ryder. My name is Ryder.”

He smiled when I told him my name, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

If someone I knew saw me right now, they would be shocked to see me smiling—because I had never smiled before. This boy—he’s full of surprises. He’s giving me emotions I’ve never felt before.

And I’m ready to explore it.

To be continued.

Clyde’s POV

I got into big trouble when I took the young duchess's first aid kit. I don’t know why I did it, but it was the only one I knew of. I had to treat his wound fast—and I was glad I managed, thanks to the many cuts and bruises I’ve treated over the past years.

The thing is, when I returned to go do my chores, the Head Maiden found out I had taken the duchess's kit—and I got a beating for it. She slapped me harder than ever, and that slap caused a cut to form on my lip. It’s not a big deal, but it still stings.

Ryder, the man lying on the bed, seems like a nice guy. He even asked me about the cut on my lip—and honestly, my heart skipped a beat, even though I was frightened by the hardness in his voice.

He’s still half-naked, and I always catch myself staring at his muscles. I don’t know why, but I always feel my cheeks warm up whenever I look at his body. It’s just… it’s my first time seeing such prominent muscles on a man—especially one who looks as good as Ryder.

He has this deep brown skin that perfectly compliments his silver-white hair. His facial structure is flawless, his ears pierced with black earrings—and somehow, they suit him. But his eyes—they might be my favorite part. A clear, mossy green that always draws me in, leaving me lost in his gaze.

His entire aura screams danger, and yet—I feel safe around him. That feeling only grew stronger when he asked if I was okay.

Aish… stop thinking about him!

Shaking those thoughts away, I remembered the clothes the duchess had given me. Let’s try them on.

I walked toward the box not far from where I stood and opened it—doing my best to ignore the weight of a stare I felt glued to me. I looked over at Ryder and frowned when he suddenly looked away. I just shook my head and went back to the clothes. They were all beautiful, clean, and brand new. Some even had tags still on them. I smiled without realizing it.

I picked a simple pair of clothes I could wear inside the room, then went to the far corner to change. I usually change under the light, but I’m not alone now—and the thought of changing in front of Ryder made my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

I undressed slowly, carefully avoiding the bruises on my body. They hurt too much to touch. Purple and raw-looking, they were just going to worsen day by day. I sighed and quickly changed into the new clothes before turning back around.

To my surprise, Ryder was looking in my direction.

Did he… watch me?

The heat rushed to my cheeks. I took a few small steps toward him, our eyes meeting briefly before I glanced away, focusing on the long spare blanket I had in the corner. Of course, I wouldn’t sleep beside him—I might hit his wound. Besides, I was way too shy to lie next to someone like him.

I spread the blanket on the floor and felt his eyes still on me.

“What’re you doing?” he asked once I finished laying the blanket down. I grabbed my notebook and pen, scribbling quickly that I’d sleep on the floor for now.

“There’s plenty of space up here,” he added, and my face heated up again. Just the thought of lying beside him made my heart pound wildly. I wrote back that I might accidentally hurt his wound. He just stared at me with a frown, then shrugged before finally laying back down.

I took that as a sign he wanted to rest. I was about to turn off the light when I saw the empty plate I’d left for him. That was supposed to be my dinner, but I knew he’d be hungry when he woke up, so I gave it to him. I was still full from lunch anyway.

I turned off the light and lay down on the floor, closing my eyes. The room was silent, and I could only hear my soft breathing—until I suddenly heard shuffling above me.

“I can’t sleep,” he said softly.

I opened my eyes but couldn’t see much—darkness blanketed everything. I wasn’t sure whether I should turn the light back on to write, ignore him, or maybe… say something.

But what would I even say?

“Won’t you ask how I got my wound?” His voice held a kind of hope in it, like he wanted me to care. And I did—but I didn’t know how to say that.

There was a long silence before he spoke again.

“My car was ambushed. I fought them off like I always do… but this time I was outnumbered. That’s why I ran and hid behind a tree—with a stab wound in me.”

That’s awful. I imagined what it must’ve been like—people attacking him like that. How could they do something so cruel to someone who couldn’t even fight back at that moment?

“But I’m glad you’re alive,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

I heard more shuffling and glanced up at the bed. I could see his head in the dark—maybe he was looking at me.

“You’re… something,” he mumbled.

I frowned. *Something?* What does that even mean? Is that bad?

Normally, I should’ve already been asleep, but after Ryder said that… something in me felt soft. I was finally starting to feel tired.

“Goodnight,” I mumbled quietly.

He hummed in return—and not long after, the stillness of night finally pulled me into sleep.

To be continued