The expansive hallways of the Holmes estate were wrapped in a stillness that felt almost secretive. The marble floors gleamed, catching the glow of crystal chandeliers that scattered soft light across walls lined with stern ancestral portraits.
In this grand, silent space, a young man in his twenties moved with quiet intent. His posture and movement spoke of humility layered over inner strength. He walked like someone trained in grace, every step fluid and poised, almost like a dancer gliding through a silent performance.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored black coat, crisp white shirt, and polished shoes, he looked every inch the refined butler. The gentle swish of his clothing followed his steps like a soft rhythm in the otherwise hushed corridor.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
This was Nathan. He didn't demand respect—he earned it, quietly and steadily. His brown hair was neatly combed, framing a face that wasn't classically handsome but had its own rugged charm. His black eyes, observant and sharp, seemed to understand more than they let on. In the low light, there was a shadow of emotion in them—something heavy and unspoken.
Nathan rarely spoke unless necessary. His silence wasn't indifference, but a choice—to listen, to think, to wait. As Ren Holmes' personal butler, he had mastered the delicate line between loyalty and boundaries, between closeness and duty.
Ren, the heir of the powerful Holmes lineage, appeared to have everything: status, wealth, and a future paved in gold. But Nathan had seen the cracks. He had seen the loneliness behind Ren's kind eyes, a gentleness that didn't quite fit in with his privileged world.
Though Ren was generous and compassionate, Nathan had come to understand that sometimes, such warmth was a mask for deeper pain. Ren was isolated in a house full of people. His parents, Lord and Lady Holmes, were too busy climbing the ladders of society to offer real affection. Their love came in the form of expensive gifts and elaborate events, never time or attention.
Ren had no real friends, not for lack of charm, but because he guarded his emotions like a fortress. Nathan watched him push himself every day, striving for something he never spoke of. That effort, Nathan knew, came from a place of longing—perhaps for love, perhaps for validation.
As Nathan walked through the hall, these thoughts weighed on him. He wished he could reach out, offer his master a friend instead of just a servant. But that invisible line between their roles stopped him. To cross it could cost him everything.
The day before had been chaos.
Lady Lyra Fontaine, Ren's betrothed, had arrived at sunrise with fire in her eyes. Her golden hair blazed in the light as she marched into the home, her voice sharp with determination. She wanted to end the engagement.
When Ren calmly refused, she broke. Her elegant composure gave way to rage and hurt, and she challenged him—to a duel.
Nathan had watched it all from a distance, heart pounding. In the courtyard, Ren and Lyra clashed—his technique precise, hers emotional but fierce. At first, they seemed evenly matched. But gradually, Ren's control began to dominate the fight.
Just when victory seemed close, Elara—Ren's younger sister—intervened. She didn't join to stop the fight. She joined to strike Ren.
Her betrayal was swift and devastating. Together, she and Lyra overpowered Ren, their blades cutting deep. Nathan had raced to his side afterward, hands trembling as he took in the brutal damage. Gashes and bruises covered Ren's body.
He would need weeks to recover—time he didn't have with the Academy entrance exam looming.
Nathan's chest still clenched when he remembered it. He had been powerless, stuck in his role as a bystander while his master bled. Elara was punished, but only slightly—confined to the house for a short while. It was barely a consequence.
Some staff whispered that Elara's status as an adopted orphan made Lord Holmes go easy on her. The contrast between how Ren was treated emotionally and how Elara was coddled made Nathan burn with quiet frustration.
Yes, Ren had wealth and a grand lifestyle. But love? True, familial affection? That was scarce. He was praised out of habit, rewarded with things instead of time. Elara, meanwhile, was forgiven again and again.
Nathan remembered when things were different.
Long ago, Ren, Elara, and Lyra had been close. Childhood friends. They would run through the estate, their laughter floating through the gardens. Then something had changed—something no one spoke of. A fracture, a loss, a betrayal. No one knew the exact cause, but the result was clear. Ren shut himself away. Elara grew restless. Lyra grew cold.
Now, standing before Ren's door, Nathan felt that heaviness return. He raised his hand and knocked softly.
Knock. Knock.
"Enter," Ren's voice called from inside.
Nathan stepped in—and froze.
Ren stood by the window, bathed in morning light. His wounds were gone. His posture was steady. His face calm. Just yesterday, he had looked like a man barely holding himself up. Now, he looked… reborn.
"Young Master?" Nathan asked, stunned.
Ren turned with a soft smile. "Good morning, Nathan."
That smile—it was the first genuine one Nathan had seen in a decade. For a moment, Ren's features glowed with something gentle and pure.
Nathan felt a strange pang. Any woman who saw Ren like this, he thought, would be spellbound.
Later, they sat in the dining room with Lord and Lady Holmes. Ren spoke politely but with a cold distance. He answered questions with practiced ease, but Nathan saw through it. The wall was still there.
If only he would let himself be vulnerable, Nathan thought. If only someone could reach him.
After breakfast, Ren made several requests. Unusual ones. Supplies, tools—things Nathan assumed were for intense training. He carried them out without question, but a quiet worry nestled in his chest.
Weeks passed.
Ren withdrew even more. He spent most days in the mansion's library, lost in books. The other staff whispered, saying he was still recovering, both in body and spirit.
When asked, Ren would smile and say he was fine. Preparing for the Academy. Healing slowly.
But Nathan didn't believe it.
He knew Ren's strength, knew the fire that burned inside him. This withdrawal wasn't weakness. It was something else. Something Ren was planning in silence.
One day, Ren shocked everyone.
He accessed a large portion of his personal funds—something he rarely did—and announced he would be training outside the estate. Alone.
Normally, he trained under supervision, often with Nathan by his side. This time, he insisted on solitude. With quiet determination, he convinced his parents to allow it.
Nathan watched him go, a storm of concern churning in his heart. Ren was chasing something—or escaping it.
Days passed. Then, unexpectedly, Ren returned.
Nathan saw him first. In the hallway. His master's familiar silhouette against the backdrop of the grand home.
But before he could approach, Elara and Lyra appeared from a side hall.
They froze.
Both women went pale.
Lyra covered her mouth in shock. Elara's eyes went wide.
Without a word, they turned and fled, disappearing into a room and slamming the door behind them.
Ren didn't move.
He stood frozen, like their rejection had punched the air from his lungs.
Nathan approached slowly.
"Good evening, Young Master," he said softly.
Ren glanced at him. For a brief second, there was relief in his eyes.
He said little and left for his room without dinner.
Nathan watched him go, his heart aching.
That night, Nathan followed.
He had a feeling Ren would be at the lake. His favorite place.
Sure enough, Ren sat on a rock by the water, knees pulled close, staring at the moon's reflection.
Nathan stayed hidden among the trees, watching silently.
Then, Ren spoke.
"Nathan, you completed that task I asked for, didn't you?"
Startled, Nathan answered from the shadows, "Yes, Young Master."
Ren's voice was low. Tired.
"You know, I could take it all," he said. "I could become the villain they see me as. Let them hate me. Let them turn away. I'd still love them."
"But this loneliness…" His voice broke. "It's unbearable."
He turned toward the trees.
Nathan saw his tears. His smile, faint and painful.
Ren laughed, bitter and empty. He murmured something Nathan couldn't quite hear.
Then, without a word, Nathan stepped out and walked beside him, matching his pace as they returned home.
The lake shimmered behind them. The wind whispered through the leaves. The night was calm, even if Ren's heart was not.
Nathan said nothing.
He just walked beside him, silently vowing to remain there.
Through every burden.
Through every tear.
Even if Ren never asked for it.
Even if he never noticed.
Nathan would stay.