I sat on the edge of the bed, reading.
Around me, the room looked less like the austere quarters of a Head Maid and more like a silk explosion. I had searched the entire room while she was busy in the garden, trying to uncover the secrets of this house. The drawers were thrown open, and draped across the mattress, the headboard, and even my own lap was her secret collection.
Black lace. Purple silk. See-through chemises.
It wasn't just a hobby—it was an obsession. A fetish implanted in her by the old Master of this house Julienne Father Marcus. The more I read her diary, the more I realized that this Marcus had a thing for this specific kind of elegance. And as I imagined Julienne in this kind of outfit, my manhood reacted instantly beneath my robe.
Click... clack... scrape.
My ears twitched.
Outside the door, the footsteps were frantic. There was no military rhythm today. I heard the jagged intake of breath, the metallic fumbling of keys against the lock plate as shaking hands tried to find purchase.
She's terrified, I thought, running a thumb over the leather cover of the diary in my hand. The seed I planted in the garden has blossomed into full-blown panic.
Clack.
The lock finally turned.
Rose all but fell into the room, slamming the door behind her and throwing the deadbolt with a desperate thud. She didn't turn on the lights. She didn't check the room. She simply slumped against the heavy wood, sliding down until her knees hit the floor, burying her face in her hands.
"Safe," she choked out, her voice wet and broken. "Safe."
But she didn't stand up. Instead, her trembling hand went to her neck, pulling a silver chain from beneath her collar. She clasped a small, worn locket tightly, pressing it against her lips as if it were a holy relic.
"Marcus..." she whispered, the name tearing from her throat with a raw, agonizing familiarity.
I watched silently from the shadows of the bed. My eyes, adapted to the pitch black of the ocean trenches, saw her perfectly.
"I tried..." she sobbed into the locket, rocking back and forth like a child. "I tried to hold it together, Marcus. I promised you. I promised I would protect her... protect this house you built."
She sniffled, wiping her eyes fiercely, though the tears kept coming.
"But it's crumbling," she hissed, her voice turning venomous, though the anger was directed at an invisible enemy. "It's that Priest. That... thing. He knows, Marcus. He knows what that monster is doing."
She clutched the locket harder, her knuckles turning white.
"He knows about the farm. He knows about the legs. He knows how your son-in-law has twisted your legacy into a butcher shop," she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of the secret she had carried for years. "If the Priest exposes him... the General won't just kill him. He'll burn this villa to ash to hide the evidence. He'll take Julienne down with him."
She kissed the locket one last time, her expression hardening into a desperate, fragile resolve.
"I have to remove the Priest," she muttered to the empty air, clutching the jewelry. "I have to write the letter. I have to silence him before he provokes the beast and destroys the last thing I have left of you."
She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to force the Iron Mask back onto her face. She pushed herself up from the floor, her eyes fixed on the desk across the room, completely ignoring the bed in the corner.
"For Julienne," she whispered. "I will become the villain to keep her safe."
"You have a very tragic way of showing love, Rose," I spoke, breaking the silence.
Rose froze mid-step.
It wasn't a flinch. It was a total bodily shutdown. Her breath caught in her throat with a strangled squeak.
Slowly, painfully, she turned her head toward the bed.
The moonlight from the window illuminated me perfectly. I was leaning back against her headboard, legs crossed, the diary resting casually on my knee.
And surrounding me—draped over my shoulders, tangled in my fingers, and scattered across the sheets—was her entire collection of lewd, expensive lingerie.
Her eyes went wide, darting from the locket in her hand, to the diary in mine, to the black lace thong currently resting on my shoulder.
"You..." she wheezed, the color draining from her face until she looked like a ghost.
"Marcus would be happy," I said, lifting a sheer purple nightgown with the tip of my tentacle. "You didn't just protect the house... you kept his hobbies alive, even after death."
I looked down at the page I was reading, reciting her own words back to her.
"Why you? Get out!" she whispered
"December 4th. My birthday. My love Marcus gifted me with yellow lace silken lingerie. It barely covered my body parts; I saw only string on the underwear, and the bra was too small to cover even the tips of my breasts. I pretended to be shy, but he was happy as he gave it to me, and I was happy too. Then... he asked me to wear it for tonight."
"That is private!" her voice trembling with a mix of rage and terror.
"Is it? It looks more like a fetish to me. Does wearing it now make you remember him?" I asked, turning a page calmly. "How about this one?"
I looked up, my eyes dark and piercing.
"October 12th. The Master threatened to sell the vineyard. I told him it was Julienne's dowry. He laughed. He said if I spoke out of turn again, he would ensure Julienne knows the relationship between me and his father."
Rose lunged. "Give it to me!"
Swish.
Two tentacles erupted from beneath my robes. They caught her mid-air, wrapping around her waist and wrists, slamming her gently but firmly against the wall.
"Let me go!" she shrieked, struggling against the rubbery grip.
"You loved him, didn't you?" I asked softly, ignoring her struggle. "Julienne's father. The old Master."
Rose stopped fighting. She slumped against the wall, her head bowing in defeat.
"He was... a good man," she challenged, tears streaming down her face. "Not like you. You're a monster."
"Thank you. Don't forget 'Priest' as well," I replied dryly. I closed the book with a soft thud.
"You came here as a girl. You became the pillar of this house. And when he died... you promised to protect his daughter. But you failed, Rose."
"I did not!" she cried. "I kept her alive! When he—that monster she married—took over, he wanted to strip this house bare. He wanted to turn Julienne into a broodmare for soldiers! I stopped him! I managed the accounts! I hid the assets! I faced the consequences!"
"And look around you," I said, gesturing to the empty room. "Where are the servants? Where is the bustling house you remember?"
Rose choked on a sob. "You don't know anything."
"Only four left," I said ruthlessly. "You. Gaston. Sofia. Kara. He chased the rest away or sold them. He degraded Julienne's authority until she was nothing but a figurehead in her own home. And you... you stayed silent. You let him turn the slums into a butcher shop because he threatened to kill the one thing you have left of the man you loved."
I stood up, the tentacles still pinning her to the wall. I walked toward her, towering over her mature frame.
"You aren't protecting her, Rose. You are just managing her slow execution."
"What else could I do?!" she screamed, her face contorted in anguish. "I am a woman! I have no sword! I have no magic! If I fight him, he kills her! I had to endure! I had to be strong!"
"You don't have to be strong anymore," I murmured, stepping into her personal space.
I reached out, my hand brushing the tear track on her cheek.
"You are lonely, Rose. I felt it in your writing. The nights you spent weeping for a man who is gone, terrified of the man who took his place."
I leaned down, my lips brushing her ear.
"You wear that uniform like armor. You wear that scowl like a shield. But underneath..."
Riiiip.
My tentacle moved. With a single, precise motion, it tore the front of her maid uniform open. Buttons scattered across the floor like hail.
Rose gasped, but she didn't scream.
She stood exposed in purple lace lingerie, different from what I had glimpsed yesterday but just as erotic. It was a desperate cry for femininity in a life devoid of touch.
"Underneath, you are just a woman waiting to be saved," I whispered.
"I... I can't..." she stammered, her eyes darting to the bed.
"You can," I promised. "Serve me, Rose. Give this house to Lunaria. And I will give you the power to crush the man who threatens your Lady."
I kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It was demanding. I poured my aura into the kiss, letting the "Predator" skill overwhelm her senses.
Rose stiffened for a second, then broke.
She grabbed my hair, pulling me closer, kissing me back with decades of repressed passion.
"Save us..." she moaned into my mouth. "Please... save her..."
"I will," I growled.
My tentacles released her wrists, only to slide down her body, caressing the purple silk, teasing the skin she had hidden for so long.
Lift.
I picked her up effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around my waist, desperate for contact.
I carried her to the bed—the bed where she had written her secrets, where she had cried alone for years.
Thump.
I laid her down. The diary fell to the floor, forgotten.