THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

Vivian's face contorted in a mask of terror. With a speed that belied her fear, she crumpled to the floor, bowing so low her forehead practically kissed the plush carpet. "Young Master, please, please," she stammered, her voice cracking with desperation. "Forgive my insolence!"

David, startled by her sudden kowtow, blinked in disbelief. Shouldn't he be the one seeking forgiveness? But clarity, sharp and icy, washed over him. He was the General's son – a notorious lout who treated women like barflies and respected them even less. A bitter taste rose in his throat.

Disgust curdled in his stomach. He never hit anyone, least of all an innocent woman! Taking a deep breath, he reached out and gently grasped Vivian's shoulders, forcing her hesitant gaze to meet his. "There's nothing to forgive," he said, his voice calm and surprisingly steady. "Come on, the food's getting cold."

Vivian hesitated, her eyes darting nervously at his unexpected kindness. Was this a trick? A prelude to another outburst?

"Unless you want me to truly get upset," David added, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. It wasn't a chuckle, but it sent shivers down Vivian's spine nonetheless. She slowly rose to her feet, ever the dutiful maid she led him to a luxurious chair with plush white cushions. As he settled in, he couldn't help but steal a glance at the silver tray.

Vivian couldn't shake the feeling that a predator was eyeing his prey, albeit a polite one for the moment. Still, a deep, primal instinct urged her caution. This new David, with his gentle voice and unfamiliar restraint, was an enigma, and Vivian, for one, wasn't sure she trusted him any further than she could throw him.

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