Any thoughts of introducing myself for the sake of politeness catapult themselves right out the window.



I didn’t recognize her at first—and I probably wouldn’t have without the black and white uniform—but now I think I recall seeing her in the distance back in the dining room briefly, not that I could focus on anything other than my inflamed bladder for more than a nanosecond the entire time. But it doesn’t erase the fact that she was there; there to witness some part of the most humiliating experience of my life.

Oh, God…was she actually here the whole time?

Did she stay the night?

Holy crap, did she see the piss on the floor?!

Did she clean it?

Is she the special housekeeper he was talking about?

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—  

“I was asked to wake you up for breakfast before I take my leave while the Master is away,” she explains, cutting my internal panic-attack short.

A scowl creases my forehead instantly.


Suddenly, I can’t breathe.

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