Upon arriving at Spencer's mansion, his personal guards and Louis rushed forward to greet them.
The moment Spencer stepped down from the carriage, every housekeeper, servant, and assistant bowed their heads in deep reverence and silent obedience.
Louis stepped down from the carriage as well, carrying someone in his arms — a frail figure with long, disheveled black hair. The stranger's face was marred with bruises, old wounds, and dried blood clinging to their skin like cracked earth. They looked utterly broken, as if misery had devoured every inch of their soul. Nothing about them was whole — only the haunting echo of what once was.
Louis's personal guard, Joshua, nearly jumped out of his skin upon seeing his master carrying a stranger. In a half-run, he hurried toward Louis in disbelief.
"Y-Young Master?!" he stammered, eyes wide as if they might pop out. "W-Who is this girl?!" he blurted, both anxious and confused, glancing nervously at the battered figure.
Who exactly was this person?
Louis let out a long, weary sigh.
"I don't know… we found her during our undercover mission. I couldn't just leave a girl in that state, could I? Besides, she's actually quite pretty—just hidden under all these damn bruises," he explained, gesturing at the battered face.
Joshua nodded, finally understanding the situation—but Louis was already losing patience.
"Are you seriously just going to stand there like an idiot? How long do you expect me to keep carrying her? Take her—now!" he snapped, shooting a sharp glare. "Remind me again—who's the master and who's the servant here?"
Startled by Louis's rising irritation, Joshua scrambled to take the unconscious girl from his arms, fumbling as he did.
Spencer said nothing. He simply walked ahead, leaving them behind as he entered the grand estate. Yet just before disappearing into the shadows of the doorway, he glanced back — his eyes briefly settling on the bruised figure being passed from Louis's arms.
His gaze was sharp, unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned away and continued walking.
Once the stranger's body had been cleaned, their features became far more distinct — and far more surprising. But before that, something utterly unexpected had occurred.
Earlier, Louis had instructed a group of female maids to bathe the unconscious figure. All seemed normal — until they began removing the torn clothing.
Moments later, the entire floor echoed with high-pitched screams.
The maids came running out of the room, faces flushed with shock and horror. As it turned out… the person they all thought was a girl — was, in fact, a man.
The person was now being examined by a physician summoned by Spencer's trusted staff.
"His condition is critical," the doctor reported calmly to Spencer, Louis, and the two men standing beside them — Haider, Spencer's butler, and Joshua, Louis's personal butler.
"He's suffering from severe malnutrition, likely due to prolonged starvation. The bruises and injuries suggest he was beaten into unconsciousness. For now, all we can do is wait until he wakes. I'll prepare the necessary medication for when that time comes."
Louis gave a quiet nod, indicating his understanding of the doctor's words. Meanwhile, Spencer remained motionless — his face unreadable, cold. Arms folded across his chest, he looked completely unfazed by the grim report.
Louis stepped quietly toward the bed, his eyes fixed on the stranger's face — now clearer, free from blood and grime. Even with the bruises, something about him made it hard for Louis to look away.
"He's so young…" Louis muttered under his breath, barely audible. "What kind of monster would do this to him…"
Joshua stood behind, watching with silent sympathy, while the doctor began packing his instruments.
Haider, ever watchful, observed Louis's movements before turning to his master. Spencer remained still, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Shall I look into his background, sir?" Haider asked calmly.
Spencer didn't respond right away. His eyes were still locked onto the figure lying unconscious on the bed.
"Yes," he said at last. His voice was cold, measured — but it held something else.
Suspicion.
"Find out who he is…"