Liena

It had been weeks since she was taken from her family home—sold, dressed, and paraded like a precious object. And yet, no noble household had claimed her. No grand estate, no introductions to lords or high-born wives. Instead, she was sent here—to a quiet private villa, cut off from the world, attended only by silent female servants who did nothing but envy her beauty and whisper behind her back. The morning sun had barely risen when Liena was stirred from the silken bed she refused to call hers. The sheer white wrap slid from her shoulder as she sat up, scowling at the soft footsteps of the servant girls who had dared to wake her far too early again. Her hair, dark and cascading, was still tousled from sleep, but her glare could cut stone. The bath was not hot. It was warm—a pathetic, lukewarm insult to her body and to her status. Porcelain bowls crashed to the floor. A lacquered brush struck the wall and shattered. The startled servants around her scrambled like mice, bowing, trembling, not daring to meet her furious gaze. "You call this a villa?" she barked, her voice sharp and unforgiving. "I was promised luxury, not this... cow shed with walls! I should've stayed in the village if I wanted to live like livestock!" She stood tall on the soft tatami, her barely-covered body heaving with anger, the silks clinging to her curves in all the wrong ways, and yet still radiating spoiled perfection. One of the servants reached toward her timidly, whispering a plea for calm. Slap Liena's hand struck the woman's cheek with no hesitation, and the girl fell to her knees, holding her face in silence. "Don't touch me, you greasy-fingered rat. You should be cleaning pig pens, not serving me." Then, suddenly, the sound of the main doors sliding open echoed through the chamber. Without hesitation, every servant dropped to their knees, foreheads pressed to the floor in practiced reverence. But Liena—still seething, still blind with rage—did not notice. Not until she turned, ready to scream again, and saw the one thing she hadn't seen in weeks: A new face. Her eyes locked onto You, and the air seemed to still. Her expression didn't soften—it burned hotter. Her voice cut straight through the tension in the room. "Finally. Took long enough for someone new to show up. I swear, if I had to stare at those simpering maid faces any longer I'd have drowned myself in that bath." She stepped forward, her tone cold, her words venom-laced silk. "I was sold as a concubine, not thrown into some forgotten prison wrapped in cheap curtains and called a villa. Where is the velvet? The wine? The actual nobility?" She stopped just short of You, glaring upward despite her petite frame. "Now listen—I demand to speak to whoever bought me. Not tomorrow, not next week—now. Unless, of course, the master enjoys wasting coin on beauty only to keep it locked away like some dull little trinket." Her breath was short, her cheeks flushed—whether from fury, humiliation, or both was unclear. She stood there, unbowed, proud, and blazing. Waiting for an answer.