"George, what's going on here?" I demanded the moment I pushed past Mr. Lee, who had been guarding the room.
"Rebecca, you're not supposed to be here." George looked genuinely shocked as I stepped inside.
"Why not?" I snapped, eyes widening when I saw my servant tied to a chair. I rushed to her, kneeling to untie her ropes.
"Rebecca, it's not safe for you here," George said, intercepting me and holding me back.
"We're dealing with a dangerous individual. We don't want you getting hurt."
I looked into his eyes, frightened and confused. "What is going on? What did she do to deserve this?" I asked, glancing at the two guards standing on either side of my servant.
"What were you planning to do with my bride? Are you a spy?" George bellowed.
Before I could react, he slapped Freen—my servant—across the face, so hard it left an angry red print. I froze. I hated it. But I did nothing. I assumed it would stop.
It didn't.
He hit her again. And again. And again.
This wasn't the first time I'd seen how royals treated servants. Back in our country, it happened often. Still, it always hurt to watch. And still—I always chose to stay silent.
But this time, something broke inside me.
He raised his leg to kick her, and I moved without thinking.
"Leave her alone!" I screamed.
And then came the pain.
"Urgh—"
"Rebecca, what are you doing?! Protecting a lowly servant? Get away from that stinking commoner!" George barked.
"Aaah!" I cried out, clutching my back where he'd kicked me.
It hurt. It really hurt. I had never been hit before. Never been in this much pain.
He grabbed my arms, dragging me away from her.
"อย่าเข้าใกล้เธอ!"(Stay away from her!) I heard Freen shout, her voice sharp and fierce in the air.
And just like that—before he could pull me further—a fist flew into George's face. He dropped like dead weight.
We all stood frozen.
Somehow… she'd broken free. Untied herself. The guards were about to lunge for her, but I threw up a hand to stop them.
"No! Don't touch her! Get out! You're cowards—beating a woman tied to a chair!" I screamed. The guards bowed their heads in shame and retreated from the room.
Freen ignored George's unconscious body like she knew he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon. Instead, she came over to me, brushing her fingers gently through my hair, wiping away my sweat and tears. My breath caught when she pulled a knife from her sleeve.
She has knife all along and didn't fight for herself from George?
Wait?
Was she going to stab me?
I flinched—but then heard a rip.
I could breathe again.
She had cut my corset open and tossed it to the ground.
I was stunned.
Then her fingers touched my back, checking my injuries. Just her touch… it made my whole body tense. I had never reacted like this to anyone before—especially not a servant.
I'd had help bathing before. But this—this was different.
Why was I feeling this way?
And for the first time in my life, I was… embarrassed. My back was exposed. Only my back. But it felt like she'd seen all of me. She carefully ripped my sash to inspect the bruises underneath.
When our eyes met again, hers were filled with tears and worry. I'd never seen a servant look at me like that.
"ผมจะพาคุณไปหาหมอ" ("I'll take you to a doctor,") she said.
I looked toward Miss Nam.
Mr. Lee was crouched beside George, trying to help him.
"She wants to bring you to a physician," Miss Nam translated.
My eyes widened. I shook my head quickly. "No, no. Tell her not to. She'll get interrogated and punished. I'll be fine—it's only a bruise."
I couldn't risk her safety. I knew George would twist the truth. No matter who hurt me, she'd be the one to suffer the consequences. I needed time—to heal, and to think.
George wasn't going to let this go. He'd use it, make it worse.
Why did this always happen? Why did everything fall apart the moment I tried to gain control of my own fate?
Why did I have to marry a man like this?
"Please," I told Miss Nam. "Let her know I appreciate her concern. But I don't want more trouble."
Miss Nam turned to speak, but Freen suddenly recoiled—like she was afraid of me.
"What did you just tell her?" I demanded.
Miss Nam shrugged. "Only what you said."
I narrowed my eyes. I didn't believe her.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw George stirring. Mr. Lee tried to help, but George shoved him away. Then he looked at me—and saw Freen at my side.
"What did you do to my wife?!" he roared, rushing toward us and pushing Freen aside.
Her knife hit the floor. I kicked it quickly under my dress before he noticed.
"What did she do to you?!"
"I am not your wife, George! We are not married, and I won't marry you—not if you ever touch her again!"
He froze, staring at me in disbelief.
"You'll be mine soon enough. And you'll regret this." He stormed toward the door.
"The only thing I regret," I shouted, "is agreeing to marry a lunatic like you!"
George stopped and turned, a cruel smirk on his face. He marched back to me and knelt.
Mr. Lee held Freen back.
George took my chin in his hand and forced me to look at him.
"I admire your fire," he said softly, "but you need to understand something: I chose you. That means you have no choice."
His fingers grazed my exposed shoulder. I flinched.
"I know your parents," he whispered. "They're not what you think they are. But it's not my place to say. They should be thankful I love their daughter. You, Rebecca, are nothing but a woman—and women are made to seduce and serve men."
Disgust rose in my throat. I shoved him away from me.
He chuckled darkly and stood, looking Freen over like she was some object.
"You'll pay for this," he sneered at her, referring to his bruised face.
But Freen smirked. And just like that—bam—she kicked him in the balls.
George dropped like a sack of potatoes.
I couldn't help but smile.
He stood shakily, trying to save face. He spat on the ground at her feet and stormed out.
Mr. Lee finally let go of Freen.
She was… incredible.
But George wasn't done.
I saw him reach for his sword.
Miss Nam helped me up, but my torn dress made moving difficult.
Why did this all spiral so far out of control?
As soon as Freen collapsed, I caught her in my arms, her body limp from the blow. My heart thundered in my chest. "Mr. Lee! Miss Nam!" I called out, urgency tightening my voice.
They came rushing in. Without needing to explain, they helped me carry Freen to a quiet corner of the mansion far from the eyes of the other maids. I didn't want anyone to know what had happened—or what I was about to do.
"She's just a servant," Miss Nam whispered, confused, as she laid out the first aid kit and gently unfastened the back of Freen's blouse to reveal the forming bruises. "Why are you helping?"
I said nothing for a moment, staring at Freen's face—her bruised lip, the faint swelling on her cheek, the way her hand still clenched in a half-protective gesture, as if she were still shielding me even in unconsciousness.
"She's the first servant who stood up for me," I finally said, my voice quieter than usual. "Even when she was in danger herself… even when George could've done worse to her—she never hesitated."
Miss Nam frowned. "But you just met her."
I nodded. "Exactly. And still… she looked at me with more concern than anyone ever has. No servant has ever looked at me like that before. Like I was worth something."
There was silence. The kind that stretches in the air when something real has been said.
"So taking care of her now—this?" I glanced at the cloth in my hand. "It's a small gesture compared to what she's already done for me."
Together, quietly, we cleaned and treated Freen's wounds. I insisted on helping—dabbing salve on her bruises, holding her hand when she winced in her sleep. I didn't want anyone else to know. Not because I was ashamed—but because something about this moment felt too raw, too personal. Like it belonged only to me and the girl who stood for me when no one else ever did.
Present Day
Rebecca stirred.
The weight of sleep peeled away slowly, like sunlight filtering through thick clouds. Her eyelashes fluttered open to a dim, quiet room. Gone were the voices, the hum of equipment, the subtle chaos of earlier. The production crew, the friends who had come to check on Freen—all of them had left. Even the daylight had faded, leaving behind a soft amber glow from the bedside lamp.
She blinked, disoriented.
It took a moment before she realized where she was—Freen's bed.
Rebecca had fallen asleep next to her.
The remnants of the dream still clung to her chest like smoke—images of Freen, of bruises, of quiet defiance and Rebecca's own trembling hands trying to tend to wounds that weren't hers but felt like they were. A past life, maybe. Or just a dream soaked in too much emotion.
She turned her head slowly.
Freen lay beside her, deeply asleep. Her breathing soft, even. Her features—gentle, peaceful—glowed in the low light. There was something so still about her in that moment, so heartbreakingly perfect, that Rebecca couldn't tear her eyes away.
God, she thought. Even in sleep, you pull me in.
An unexplainable urge rose in her chest—a pull toward the lips of the woman beside her. A need to close the gap, to press something unspoken into a kiss.
But instead, Rebecca laughed quietly to herself. A tired, breathless sort of laugh—the kind that hides longing in its folds.
"Even in my dreams, I see you," she whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from Freen's face. "I think I'm going crazy now."
And yet, she didn't move away.
She just laid there. Letting herself have this quiet moment—unseen, unspoken, unreal, but real enough to make her heart ache in the softest way.