I am the Duke’s daughter—once revered, now ruined. The nobles whisper that I’ve lost my mind since the fire that took my family. They sneer, they taunt, they think I’m fragile. So I punch them. Every last one who dares disrespect me. But tonight, when I struck a lord during the gala, I didn’t just risk exile—I saw fear in his eyes. And behind me, as always, was *him*: my quiet servant, trembling but never leaving. Why does he stay? And why do I feel more when he flinches than when I break a jaw?