"Six days and she still hasn't opened her eyes? Maybe she's... faking it."

"Faking it!?"

"Not possible... right?"

"Why not? Plenty of women have used dirtier tricks to stay near Mr. von Herheid." The maid's voice shook with indignation.

A sharp, mocking laugh cut through the kitchen. "She hasn't even met you, Anni. How much did Daisy Beaumont pay for this loyalty? Does she even know you're barking on her behalf?"

Anni's face flushed a deep crimson as she gripped a jar of nuts. Her knuckles turned white. "Miss Daisy is the future mistress of this estate. A newcomer like you should keep your mouth shut."

"We'll see about that."

The head chef kicked the door open, barking orders in rapid-fire French. The gossip evaporated instantly.

Uniformed maids moved in practiced patterns. Traditional black-and-white dresses rustled against the floor—a remnant of the old Imperial court style Frederick insisted on maintaining.

Silverware clinked against fine china. A young maid polished a Quinet centerpiece with frantic precision, her voice a mere whisper. "Harold said the Master found her in the Blackwood Hunting Grounds. He carried her back himself."

"Barry told me he went out on a whim. Didn't hit a single target... brought back a human being instead."

"I caught a glimpse through the door yesterday. She's stunning. Easily as beautiful as Daisy. Is she Chinese? Or mixed?"

"Don't ask me. I can't tell the difference."

The air filled with the scent of toasted brioche and lamb ribs marinating in rye beer. Blueberry jam bubbled on the stove. The chef's blade glided through bluefin tuna with surgical focus.

Mr. von Herheid was coming home tonight. Everything had to be perfect.

At the main gate, the heavy iron bars ground open. A yellow Ferrari 812 Superfast tore through the gap, kicking up a storm of gravel and dust.

The car blurred past two kilometers of dense oak forest. The horizon opened up—a vast, unobstructed blue sky.

The engine growled lower as the car entered the formal French gardens. Geometric lawns stretched out like a maze. A giant fountain sprayed mist, catching the light in a fleeting rainbow.

Beyond the artificial lake, the ivory architecture appeared. Herheid Estate—or the "Herheid Palace"—glowed like golden scales where the mountains met the water.

A young man in a light linen suit stepped out of the Ferrari, sliding his sunglasses up.

"Good afternoon, Master Benjamin," Harold, the head butler, greeted him with a practiced bow.

Benjamin tossed the keys over his shoulder. "How long until the Master arrives, Harold?"

"Six o'clock, sir."

Benjamin checked his watch and shrugged. "Fifteen minutes of freedom, then."

He strode into the foyer, his heels clicking against the polished black teak. Harold followed two paces behind. "Tea or coffee, sir? We have fresh rum cake."

Benjamin wasn't there for cake. He'd flown from the southern hemisphere the moment the rumors reached him.

His cousin—the untouchable Frederick—had brought a girl home. Daisy Beaumont had spent the week drunk and weeping, and the gossip was too delicious to ignore.

Frederick was nearly thirty and notoriously... untouched. A devout Catholic who lived like a monk in a mountain of gold.

"Where is she?" Benjamin's gaze drifted toward the grand staircase.

Harold paused, his hands folding neatly in front of him. "Mr. von Herheid gave orders. The guest is not to be disturbed."

Benjamin smirked, leaning against a gilded pillar. "Relax, Harold. Do I look like a man who wants to pick a fight with Frederick? I just want a look. Besides, with fifty servants in this house, secrets are already leaking."

Harold knew better than to argue with the family's resident rebel. He gestured toward the upper floor.

The interior was pure Rococo—gorgeous, light, and sweet. Pink-toned walls featured intricate reliefs, and the high dome was covered in centuries-old religious murals.

They walked over thick Oriental wool rugs. Their footsteps were swallowed by the fabric, silent enough to keep even a light sleeper undisturbed.

"Here, Master Benjamin. Please be brief." Harold gestured to a set of heavy doors.

"I'm the most obedient man you know, Harold." Benjamin waited for the butler to disappear before turning the handle.

The room smelled of warmth and something deep and floral. The curtains were drawn tight, drowning the space in a hazy, amber twilight.

A woman lay on the bed, motionless as a still-life painting. Benjamin's pulse quickened.

Her skin wasn't the stark white of the Europeans he knew. It was delicate, like a pearl under soft light. Her features were fine—a straight nose, a gentle jawline, and a pair of full, pale lips that looked dangerously fragile.

Her long lashes quivered with every shallow breath.

"Porcelain doll..." Benjamin whispered.

He moved closer, looping the IV tube over his finger to get a better look. He leaned down, his face inches from hers. The scent of her skin was intoxicating.

He closed his eyes, tilting his head just enough to—

"Benjamin."

A low, vibrating baritone cut through the silence like a blade.

Benjamin scrambled back, his heart slamming against his ribs. He turned toward the door.

Frederick stood there. He was massive, his broad shoulders filling the frame. His deep blue eyes were narrowed, as sharp as an eagle's.

Benjamin swallowed hard. The pressure in the room shifted instantly.

"Hey, Fritz," Benjamin forced a grin, his palms sweating. "Back from Zurich?"

Frederick didn't answer immediately. He walked into the room and sat on the velvet sofa, slowly peeling off his black leather gloves. His knuckles cracked in the quiet room.

"What were you doing?" Frederick asked, his voice deceptively calm.

"Sorry! I wasn't... I didn't touch her." Benjamin rubbed the back of his neck. "You know I have a type. Beautiful Asian girls... I can't help myself."

"She isn't mine," Frederick corrected him, his tone strangely permissive.

Benjamin's eyes lit up. He tightened his fist. "Really? Then... when she wakes up... can I...?"

Frederick tilted his head, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "You should ask the lady for her consent."

"Then I'll wait—"

"Benny." Frederick's voice dropped an octave. The warning was unmistakable. "You're too loud. You're disturbing the patient. Leave. Go back to your own wing and don't come back tonight."

Benjamin's jaw tightened. He glanced at the girl on the bed one last time, then retreated, muttering under his breath.

Frederick remained on the sofa.

The sun dipped below the horizon, blurring his sharp profile. His cold-gold hair was perfectly combed back, his three-piece suit impeccable. He looked like a marble statue carved by a master.

He stared at the sleeping girl for a long time.

Then, he let out a single, heavy sigh.