Chapter 4: The Noble’s Cruelty
A maid's duty is absolute.
The moment she began her training, she was told this.
She watched the other servants bow their heads, silent and obedient, moving without hesitation. Every movement was precise. Every word spoken with care.
There was no room for error.
Mistakes were punished.
Harshly.
She learned quickly.
Not because she feared punishment.
Pain was nothing to her.
She learned because Vaera had chosen her.
And she would not fail her.
So she watched.
She observed.
She memorized everything.
How to clean without leaving a trace. How to serve without making a sound. How to read the moods of nobles—when to bow, when to speak, when to disappear.
She learned what nobles expected.
What they demanded.
And—most importantly—what happened when those demands were not met.
The noble class was ruthless.
She saw it first with the other servants.
A maid dropping a tea set.
A butler failing to anticipate a guest's needs.
A cook slightly burning a dish.
Mistakes that meant nothing.
Mistakes that would have been ignored in the slums.
Here, they were unforgivable.
A harsh slap across the face.
A cane striking the hands until they bled.
Kneeling on stone floors for hours—until their legs trembled, their bodies shaking from exhaustion.
She watched it all.
Memorized it.
Accepted it.
Because she had seen worse.
She had lived worse.
And yet—
Vaera was different.
She was cruel.
Not in a loud, wrathful way like her father.
Not in a careless, dismissive way like other nobles.
Vaera's cruelty was calculated.
Precise.
She did not lash out in anger.
She did not punish for the sake of it.
She punished with purpose.
She saw it for the first time when a servant brought Vaera the wrong tea.
It was something so small.
So insignificant.
But Vaera merely looked at the servant, her violet eyes sharp and cold, and spoke in a voice so smooth it almost sounded kind.
"Drink it."
The servant hesitated. "M-My Lady?"
"You chose to serve me something unworthy," Vaera said, tilting her head. "If it is good enough for me, it should be good enough for you, yes?"
The maid's hands trembled as she lifted the cup to her lips.
The moment the tea touched her tongue, she paled.
"Poison?" the maid choked out, eyes wide.
"Not fatal," Vaera assured, watching with amusement. "Just enough to remind you why carelessness is unacceptable."
The maid collapsed moments later, her body writhing as pain seized her limbs.
Vaera merely took another sip of her own tea—the correct one this time—watching with quiet satisfaction as the servant suffered.
Another time, a noble boy tried to pull at Vaera's hair, laughing as he reached for the silver strands.
She smiled.
Let him touch her.
Then—
With the grace of a noble lady, she raised a delicate hand and shattered his wrist with one precise strike.
The boy screamed.
She simply leaned in and whispered, "Do not touch what you cannot afford."
And then she left him sobbing on the ballroom floor, his broken hand hanging limply at his side.
She never yelled.
She never lost control.
Her cruelty was cold.
Efficient.
Perfect.
And she admired it.
It was the opposite of the messy, rage-filled violence she had known in the slums.
It was not wild.
It was art.
A game.
And Vaera played it flawlessly.
A perfect noble.
A perfect villainess.
A perfect… master.
But—
There was something wrong.
Something she hadn't noticed before.
Something missing.
Vaera was cruel to everyone.
Servants. Nobles. Strangers.
No one was safe from her icy words, her sharp gaze, her ability to break people without lifting a finger.
And yet—
She had never been cruel to her.
Not once.
She had been indifferent at first, yes.
She had given orders. Had expected obedience. Had treated her no differently than a tool.
But she had never hurt her.
Never punished her.
Never looked at her with the same cold disgust she gave the rest of the world.
She had seen Vaera break people.
But Vaera had never tried to break her.
Why?
Why?
A slow, creeping warmth curled in her chest.
Vaera was not kind.
Vaera was not merciful.
And yet—
She had chosen her.
And she did not hurt what was hers.
She did not hurt her.
Her fingers twitched.
Her breath came slower.
The world around her faded, voices turning to muffled whispers.
Vaera was cruel.
Vaera was cold.
Vaera was a monster.
But—
Vaera would never be cruel to her.
Never.
And somehow, that thought made her smile.
She would devote herself to Vaera.
The realization settled deep inside her, a quiet certainty that burned without hesitation.
Vaera was cruel. Cold. A noble through and through.
Yet, she had never been cruel to her.
Never.
That fact alone was enough.
More than enough.
She belonged to Vaera now.
She would serve her.
Protect her.
Worship her.
And if anyone dared to hurt Vaera—
They would suffer.
She worked harder.
Even if no one noticed.
She rose before dawn. Slept only when she was sure there was nothing left undone.
She studied everything she could about Vaera's likes and dislikes.
The temperature she preferred her tea.
The way she arranged her books in her study.
The sound of her footsteps when she was pleased.
The slight shift in her voice when she was irritated.
She learned.
And she adjusted.
She anticipated her needs before Vaera even voiced them.
It was not obedience.
It was devotion.
An unshakable, immovable devotion.
And if Vaera ever noticed the way she worked herself to the bone—
She never said a word.
A day later, she walked through the halls of the Nachtrose estate, her steps slow and deliberate.
Behind her, the girl followed.
Silently.
She had noticed the change.
The quiet, unwavering devotion.
It amused her.
She had chosen the girl on a whim.
A filthy, starving creature collapsed in the slums—one that had intrigued her for reasons she still could not explain.
And now, this girl was more loyal than any servant in the estate.
More obedient.
More attentive.
She did not even need to command her.
The girl simply knew.
It was fascinating.
And yet—
Something about it unsettled her.
A servant turned the corner ahead.
His eyes widened when he saw her, and he quickly lowered his head, stepping aside—
Too late.
His shoulder brushed against her as he tried to move.
It was barely a touch.
A fleeting contact.
And yet, Vaera stopped.
The air turned cold.
The servant paled, panic flickering in his eyes. "M-My Lady, I—"
He did not get the chance to finish.
A suffocating bloodlust crashed over them.
It was not hers.
No—
This was something else.
Something dark.
Something sharp and vicious.
Something hungry.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
The bloodlust was wrong.
It was not a noble's silent wrath.
It was not an assassin's focused intent.
It was raw. Primal.
Like a beast about to tear apart its prey.
She turned her head slightly.
The girl was standing behind her.
Her expression was blank.
Empty.
Yet her crimson eyes burned.
A slow, eerie kind of burn.
Not with rage.
Not with fury.
But with a deep, consuming desire.
The servant trembled.
His breathing turned shallow.
Vaera tilted her head.
"Interesting," she murmured.
And smiled.