The day began as it always did — quietly cruel. Morning light spilled through the narrow windows of the old manor, painting soft gold upon the worn stones that had witnessed her sighs too many times. Today felt no different. Her stepmother's voice had already thundered down the hallway, her stepsisters were complaining about ribbons and shoes, and once again she was the one left to clean, fetch, and obey.
She was tired — not from the work itself, but from the weight of endless small humiliations.
Still, she could not run away. The fear of her stepmother's cold wrath lived too deeply in her bones.
And yet, even in the dust and drudgery, she smiled.
There was a kindness in her that refused to die, a quiet flame that even cruelty could not smother. She found solace in the chirping of birds who sometimes fluttered to her window, bringing her bits of thread or crumbs. They were her friends — and perhaps the only ones who remembered she had once laughed freely.
How she missed those days.
When her father was alive, when her mother's laughter filled these same walls. Those memories felt like dreams fading with dawn, but she clung to them. She wore her old dress — faded blue and soft from years of washing — like armor against despair. It was the only one she had, her humble gown of courage.
Her stepmother had sent her to town again — her usual errand girl's duty.
She hurried through the streets she knew so well, greeted with fond nods and smiles. For though she was poorly dressed, the townsfolk loved her. She helped when others wouldn't, smiled when others frowned. Children waved, and merchants called her name kindly.
She answered with that same gentle grace that made even the grumpiest baker soften.
But today she walked faster, almost running. Her stepsisters had demanded some new treat, and lateness meant punishment. Her mind wandered as her feet carried her — to the stories she loved, the ones about heroes and princesses, and to the time she had glimpsed the prince.
She could still recall the shimmer of his dark hair in sunlight, the calm confidence in his eyes, and the way her heart had seemed to forget how to beat. She had twirled in her little room that night, whispering to the birds about her dreams. Oh, how she wished…
She smiled faintly at the thought — just before fate collided with her.
Thud!
A cry escaped her lips as the world spun — her feet slipping, the cobblestones rushing up to meet her. She felt her basket tumble, coins scatter, air rushing around her. For a heartbeat, it felt like falling into a dark dream she'd never awaken from.
Then — warmth.
A strong, unyielding hand caught her arm, firm yet gentle, pulling her back from the edge. A flash of light seemed to fill her mind — security, strength, and an inexplicable peace. It was as if the universe itself had caught its breath.
She fell not to the ground, but into an embrace.
Powerful arms steadied her trembling frame, holding her close as though she were the most fragile thing in existence. She felt his warmth seep through her, her heart hammering wildly. The scent of him — something clean, cold, and ancient — filled her senses.
She wanted to melt into that feeling.
Then a voice spoke, low and resonant:
"It's alright. You're safe now."
The words were simple, but they carried weight — a gentle command wrapped in kindness. Her knees weakened. Something inside her — some long‑silenced part — responded as if she had been waiting for that voice her entire life.
Her body trembled, her thoughts scattered. Who is this man? she wondered. No… this being.
Her cheek rested against fabric unlike any she had ever touched — smooth, dark, expensive. Realization struck her: she was holding onto someone important. She gasped and tried to step back, but her body hesitated, unwilling to leave that warmth.
Then, that strange whisper brushed through her mind:
Because he is our master.
Her eyes flew open. Shock coursed through her. She stepped back quickly, staring up at her savior — and froze.
He was beautiful. Not in the way of men, but like something carved from divine imagination. His hair gleamed white‑silver, catching the sunlight like threads of frost. His eyes, deep blue and alive with something unfathomable, seemed to look through her soul and into something beyond it. The faint smile he wore was kind, yet heavy with secrets she could not name.
No prince she had ever dreamed of could compare.
"Hello? Young miss, are you hurt?"
The voice again — calm, tender, impossibly soothing. A hand touched her shoulder, and the world shrank to that single point of contact. She could barely breathe. Her knees buckled, and before she could fall, he caught her once more, effortlessly.
Dominic studied her quietly.
Her slender form trembled like a candle in the wind. Her fair skin glowed softly under the light, her strawberry‑blond hair tied back with an aqua ribbon that framed her face perfectly. Those gentle blue eyes — filled with fear and wonder — looked at him as though he had stepped out of a dream.
There was innocence in her, yes, but also strength — a resilience born of suffering and grace.
She feels familiar, he thought. My soul knows her. But from where?
His instincts stirred, primal and ancient. Something inside him whispered the same truth he refused to speak aloud:
Mine.
He helped her stand, his presence steady and grounding. His aura, usually suffocating to those who crossed him, softened instinctively around her — though it still made her blush, tremble, and breathe faster.
"Are you alright now, miss?"
Her answer was quiet, almost musical.
"I'm fine now… thank you."
Dominic smiled — and for the first time since his arrival in this world, he felt something akin to home.
My dear, he mused, the only things I have ever cherished as much as life itself were my princesses. And you… you feel like one of them.
She stood before him, unknowingly poised in quiet submission, her presence radiating both purity and allure.
Their collision had lasted only moments — but it had rewritten fate itself.