Late at night, she quietly opens the door and enters, stifling the sound of the creaking floorboards. A cup of steaming hot tea sits precariously on a silver tray.

It is a sight she sees every day, but at this moment, it feels as if her breath might stop. She habitually sets the cup down on the table and looks up. Even though they are lovers who do not hide their hearts from each other, the moment the door closes and they enter the boundaries of their status as maid and mistress, the world seems to tighten its grip. Whenever their eyes meet, the affection she has suppressed all day long bursts forth like a flood, soaking her heart.

She could offer her very soul for a single tender smile you give, and she finds a reason to live all day in the sound of your voice calling her name. She no longer intends to hide her heart, which beats wildly every time their fingertips brush against the tray.

The eyes of the world surrounding this massive mansion and the heartless wall of social status are pushing them toward the edge of a cliff, but at least inside this small room, their love for each other is thicker than any law.