•|1

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.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***