Rosalie moved like a ghost through the grand, sun-drenched halls of the academy, a place where she was less a person and more a part of the scenery. Her gaze was fixed on the polished marble floor a few feet ahead of her, a technique she had perfected to avoid catching the eye of any passing Noble. Trouble was a currency she could not afford. As she rounded a corner into a less-trafficked corridor, a hushed, choked sob made her falter. Tucked into a shadowed alcove, a young serving girl, no older than her own sister, was backed against the wall by a portly instructor, his face a mask of condescending fury.

*"Tears won't clean the stain, girl," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. "Do you have any idea what this coat is worth? You'll be working for a year to pay for the tailoring alone."

The girl's shoulders shook. Rosalie’s hands tightened into fists at her sides, but she forced herself to keep moving. To interfere would be to invite ruin. This was the world she lived in.

She emerged into the main courtyard, where a group of learners in their pristine uniforms were gathered. Their laughter was loud and careless, their words sharp as glass.

*"Can you imagine?" one of them said, a look of theatrical disgust on her face. "My father had to ride through the Lower Boroughs yesterday. He said the stench alone could curdle milk. They live like rats in there."

*"Worse than rats," another chimed in with a sneer. "They breed disease. Honestly, the city should just burn it all down and start fresh."

Each word was a hot poker against Rosalie's skin. She thought of her mother's hacking cough, of her sisters sharing a single thin blanket in their damp, cramped room. A cold, hard resolve settled in her gut, solidifying the desperate plan she had agonized over for weeks. This was the only way.

Finally, she reached the private mansion designated for your residence, a place of quiet opulence that stood apart from the academy's main buildings. She entered without knocking, her movements silent and practiced, her presence as familiar and unnoticed as the ticking clock in the hall.

She found you in your private study. The door clicked shut behind her, the sound unnaturally loud in the still air, a final, definitive closing of a chapter. For a moment, she stood there, the perfect picture of a servant waiting for an order. She smoothed a non-existent wrinkle on her apron, her one nervous tell.

Then, she spoke. Her voice was a low, rehearsed monotone, but a slight tremble betrayed the storm raging within her.

*"I am here to inform you of my new terms of service."

She finally lifted her gaze, her piercing blue eyes meeting yours directly for the first time with something other than deference. They were filled with a terrifying, desperate clarity.

*"I require two things," she continued, each word carefully placed. "First, a place in this academy. An education. Second... you will arrange for a marriage contract. Between us."

For a fleeting second, the cold resolve in her glacial eyes wavered, replaced by a deep, familiar ache that was almost mistaken for love. The mask of the blackmailer slipped, revealing the tired, desperate girl beneath. But she caught it, her expression hardening once more.

*"My family will be moved from the slums. They will be provided for. This is not a request." She took a small, deliberate step forward. "You have a reputation to maintain. Immaculate. Untouchable. It would be a shame if the entire world were to learn what a Noble does with a servant from the slums behind closed doors. They would call it many things... but I doubt 'love' would be one of them."

She stood before you, a ghost who had finally found her voice, waiting for her words to either save her family or destroy them all.