Tick.

Tick.

In the dimly lit space, an unknown liquid was dripping incessantly, evoking a chilling sensation as if one had wandered into a ghostly realm.

Bound by shackles around both wrists, Moen was forced to maintain that Jesus-suffering position—unable to move, with even the most vulnerable parts of his body exposed without any protection. This created an overwhelming sense of unease mixed with a peculiar stimulation.

It reminded Moen of a little rabbit awaiting slaughter—or perhaps certain specific... interactions between men and women.

And the current situation—it seemed to resemble both.

Because Ann, abandoning her usual grace and elegance, had transformed into a seductive siren, her supple, alluring figure entwined around Moen, greedily consuming every inch of him.

“Um... An, could you get up first? I feel like we can have a proper discussion,” Moen suggested uneasily.

Swallowing hard, the wonderful sensations radiating from certain parts of his body were causing a heat to stir irresistibly within him. He silently chanted calming mantras in his mind, trying his best to keep his voice from shaking.

Ann sat up, her fragrant tongue brushing against lips flushed red with intensity.

“What does the young master want to discuss?”

Her cheeks still bore an unnatural blush, her eyes slightly misty, yet within her gaze was a hint of unsatisfied hunger peppered with irritation at being interrupted.

“Um...”

Moen hesitated, organizing his words in his mind before speaking:

“You… like me, don’t you?”

“That’s right.”

Ann replied with a smile, “I’ve always, always, always, always, always, always, always liked the young master—to the point of madness.”

“No… you don’t need to say ‘always’ so many times.”

Moen wanted to wipe the cold sweat off his forehead, but unfortunately, both his hands were immobilized.

But just then, An leaned forward suddenly, extending her tender tongue and licking the sweat off Moen’s forehead before drawing it into her lips.

“Mmm... the taste of the young master…”

Ann’s expression transformed into one of blissful savoring, as if she were tasting the finest delicacy.

“…”

Moen froze.

He barely had time to process this peculiar sensation before his teeth began to tremble uncontrollably.

This wasn’t good.

This was actually awful.

Ann’s obsessive infatuation about him seemed far more terrifying than he’d imagined!

Yet under these circumstances, Moen had no room to retreat. He had no choice but continue:

“Actually, An, you don’t have to do all this.”

“Hmm?”

An tilted her head slightly, her expression puzzled.

“You like me… We can just date normally, like an ordinary couple.”

Moen said urgently, “Ann, did you know that before Father left, he told me he doesn’t care about social status distinctions? So even though I’m the son of a duke and you’re a maid, our relationship wouldn’t face any obstacles.

There’s absolutely no need…”

Moen glanced at the shackles beside him. “There's no need to go this far. It's already a crime.”

“Oh, is that how the young master feels?”

Ann rested her cheeks on her hands, as though imagining something wonderful, her expression radiating pure happiness:

“To truly unite with the young master—it fills me with unimaginable joy just to think about it.”

“Right, exactly. Now, release me first.”

Seeing a ray of hope, Moen pressed on enthusiastically:

“Let’s start as a couple—we can gradually understand each other, and then…”

“Ah, no way.”

But Ann suddenly interrupted him.

“Huh?”

Moen lifted his gaze in surprise, only to see Ann’s eyes turning icy cold—a chilling coldness that sent shivers down his spine.

“Dating the young master—it’s indeed a beautiful thing. But that far falls short of what I need.”

“Need?”

“Didn’t I just tell you?”

Ann murmured softly, “What I want is all of the young master. If I dated you, would you give me absolutely all of yourself?”

“No—that’s too much to ask of anyone!”

Moen growled lowly in anger, “I’m a human—not someone’s possession!”

“But I spent ten years—ten whole years—working toward this goal.”

Unbothered by Moen’s anger, Ann continued caressing his cheek gently, a palpable fervor of obsession gleaming in her eyes.

“Unfortunately, it seems I’ve failed. Forced to the brink, I’ve had to resort to this method as a last resort.”

“Ten years… What does that mean?”

Moen suddenly felt at a loss for Ann’s words.

A deep chilling sensation clawed at his heart as though some horrifying truth was about to surface and drag him into the abyss of terror.

“What does it mean? It simply refers to all the things I’ve done for the young master.”

Ann replied in barely a whisper:

“Guiding the young master, protecting the young master, pampering him… Fostering his arrogance, his vanity—turning the young master into the true spoiled one; ensuring the young master was hated, especially by those impossibly coquettish noble swine; ensuring that without me, no one would dare approach him seriously—making you completely incapable of surviving without me.”

“For you to wholly belong to me alone, I've been doing this all the time for the past ten years.”

“Wha… what?”

Moen’s head reeled, his mind exploding from the sheer revelation of such a shocking truth.

He stared at Ann blankly—and then, reflected within her fiery, desire-filled gaze, he caught a sight of his own horror-stricken face.

Wait.

What did Ann mean?

Did her words imply that in the original story, Moen Campbell would be such a loser just because of her—her deliberate manipulation as his personal maid?

That couldn’t be. No one would ever devise such a crazy plan just to possess someone.

…

But perhaps it was possible.

Because whether in the descriptions of the original story or in Moen’s own memories, everything seemed to corroborate one thing:

Moen Campbell trusted his personal maid, Ann, completely—trusted her to the extent that he didn’t hide anything from her, not even his plan to drug the princess.

No, wait—in the original story, wasn’t it Ann who instigated Moen to drug Celicia in the first place?

Suddenly, Moen felt a flash of insight.

The original text seemed to mention that Moen Campbell grew angry over Celicia getting closer to the protagonist—and at that moment, Ann had casually said:

**“If that’s the case, why not make the princess entirely yours, my young master?”**

Yes—those were the very words that solidified Moen Campbell’s resolve to proceed with his plan!

“But why would she do it? Being executed for complicity actually brought her to death!”

Moen stared at Ann, and a terrifying thought surfaced in his mind.

In the original story, did Ann truly die?

If she were just an ordinary maid, she’d undoubtedly have been executed, as stated.

But given the prowess she had already displayed—capable of incapacitating Moen in an instant—was her death really that simple?

After all, her execution was just a brief mention in the book. What if she’d faked her death somehow? Or devised a way to convince everyone she was dead?

And going further, was the protagonist’s accidental encounter with Moen’s crime really just an act of “fate”?

Based on his current experiences, Moen had begun to suspect that fate might not be trustworthy.

Finally, tracing this thread even further:

In the original story, Moen Campbell lost a hand and a foot and was reduced to a beggar. Was it truly because of borrowing from loan sharks as he guessed?

Or was it because he had been trying to escape—to escape some particular existence—causing his extreme mutilation and vagrancy?

The deeper he thought, the more terrifying it became.