Chapter 144

As a responsible housekeeper, Hena was very concerned about her master's lifestyle and even more curious about his wife's past life.

What kind of butler would so indulge his master's bad habits, allowing him to develop alcoholism and drug addiction, and to be in a daze all day long?

The key point is that the lady knew nothing about this.

When reminded to exercise restraint, his expression remained indifferent, yet a hint of doubt lingered for a moment. He then gestured for a servant to pour wine, fanning himself as he said, "It's nothing, Ms. Heinz, your worries are excessive."

Unlike the nobles who squandered their lives and indulged in sensual pleasures, the lady's attitude towards life was more like what he considered normal.

"I learned to drink alcohol when I was twelve years old, and my father hired a teacher for it."

The lady said this, and then asked, "Is there anything wrong with that?"

That cold and arrogant gaze, yet mixed with a touch of innocence, made Haina vaguely remember that the lady was only twenty-five years old, very young.

The lady rarely ate the food served; the restaurant was always filled with the aroma of roses and strong liquor.

Haina was willing but powerless. In order to protect her job, she chose to remain silent about all of her master's habits, and even unconsciously indulged them.

Gradually, she came to understand why her master was unaware that her living conditions were harming her life. It was because the servants were concerned about their own futures and dared not speak up, and the lady's family probably... didn't care about her health.

However, this situation changed after Cynthia secured the position of serving the lady.

"Excessive drinking is a demon that destroys the body. You don't know, my relative who works at a brewery drank too much rice wine and looks like he's forty when he's only thirty. Goddess, I'm not lying."

Cynthia spoke with conviction, patting her flawless face: "Look, my skin is so good because I drink this all the time."

He served a steaming bowl of apple soup, wiped his apron, and, under the wife's indifferent gaze, took the glass of red wine, gesturing with his lips: "Please try it."

The lady was very unhappy. Her already cold and beautiful appearance became even more intimidating. She crossed her arms, turned her face away, and said with great resistance, "I don't drink hot things."

Cynthia said shyly, "Then I'll cool it down and feed it to you."

The lady gasped, turned her head, her brows furrowed in a heartbreaking way, and looked at Hena, saying sternly, "Hena, throw him out."

Being reprimanded by one's master in this way is a serious dereliction of duty. Any servant with any sense of shame would feel ashamed and wish they could bang their head on the ground.

But Cynthia clearly didn't understand. His lips trembled, and tears streamed down his face as he bit his handkerchief, sobbing, "Madam~"

The lady's face was grim, but she didn't gesture to Haina again.

He picked up the spoon with a sour face, gave Cynthia a cold look, and Cynthia immediately fell silent and obediently wiped away her tears.

Cynthia watched as the lady drank her soup, and said shyly, "Madam, you look so beautiful today, your skin is glowing."

Michael: "Hmph."

Cynthia: "After you finish eating, would you like to go and see the roses I planted? They've already sprouted leaves."

Michael: "Hmph."

Cynthia: "Madam looks so beautiful today, don't you really want to go out for a walk? What a pity."

Michael: "Hmph."

The aristocratic rule of not speaking while eating or sleeping was like a fart to Cynthia. Heina watched as Cynthia tried her best to persuade the lady to eat, the whole process filled with low pressure and cold air, but that glass of red wine was never touched again from beginning to end.

Michael felt his throat was a little dry, his body was not used to it, and he felt that something was wrong, but his stomach felt very comfortable.

That warm feeling dispelled his anxiety about not being able to get his hands on alcohol, and Cynthia was too noisy.

Michael, wearing a lake-green gauze hat and with his long, curly hair tied up in a bun, glanced at the flowerbed with little interest and scoffed, "Are these weeds also roses?"

In the flowerbed, stems were planted, their sparse leaves hanging pitifully on the stalks. Cynthia, wearing a straw hat, watered them, looking rather pathetic: "They've just taken root, madam. They'll grow slowly and bloom."

Michael turned his head away without a second thought.

I don't know what's so interesting about this place; it's just as boring outside.

"Ah ah."

Cynthia's little boy, wearing overalls his father had made from a curtain, wobbled along the fence, watching his father work inside. After a while, bored, little Dickin reached for the roses on the fence, but couldn't reach them.

Michael glanced at the child, casually plucked a rose from his hair, and tossed it to him.

Diding picked up a flower, looked at the beautiful Omega with a puzzled expression, and then happily put the flower into his mouth.

Michael swiftly snatched the rose back. He glanced at Cynthia, who was watering the flowers and had no time for Dickin. Michael frowned, thought for a moment, then took off his pearl necklace and handed it to Dickin.

Dickin was puzzled, but the chubby little hand still clutched the new toy, making two "ah ah" sounds.

When Cynthia finished her work, she found that neither the lady nor Dickin were outside the flower garden.

Cynthia exclaimed in surprise, thinking that the lady had gone back out of boredom. He followed the path to find Dickin, who was well-behaved and usually wouldn't run around. He found Dickin not far from the flower garden, but the lady was also there.

The lady's shoes were lying on the grass.

Dicking walked along scattering a handful of white beans, while his wife followed behind him, looking aloof. Once Dicking finished scattering the beans, she stood there watching him pick them up.

Cynthia watched for a while, then suddenly felt something was wrong. Where did Dickin get these white beans?

Cynthia: "!"

...

Michael replaced his morning wine with milk.

While he was upset about this, Cynthia held up a mirror and said, "You look much better than yesterday."

The love of beauty is human nature, especially for Omegas. The valiant Omega knights in the neighboring country, in addition to their rampages, often bathe in fresh flowers to maintain their youth.

No Omega would be indifferent to their own beauty. Even someone as aloof as Michael would not want to see an aging version of himself in the mirror.

He snorted and raised an eyebrow, the reflection in the mirror responding with the same mockery, as if ridiculing Cynthia's unnecessary worries.

Cynthia put down the mirror and combed his hair: "Madam, your hair is so soft."

Michael suddenly turned around, his expression cold and somewhat conflicted, and said, "I don't like it."

Cynthia was taken aback. "Why, madam? Don't you like your hair?"

Michael was surprised that he had blurted it out. He turned around, his tone stiff and irritated: "Nothing,"

Almost no noblewoman would keep her hair short. Whether male or female, they all wore their hair in a bun and wore dresses. This was a customary rule in high society. But did the lady like it?

As an Omega, no one understands the constraints and repressions of gender better than Cynthia. If it weren't for Cynthia's good mindset, she would have long since become a numb and miserable single male Omega father.

And what about the lady?

What kind of life did the lady lead since childhood? Is she waiting for Cynthia to advise him that as an Omega, it's best not to go too far?

Cynthia recalled his wife's piano playing and the men's clothing he had seen when he first organized her wardrobe. He frowned, and it took him a while to realize that he didn't want to persuade her. He held his wife's long hair and gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

"Well, madam, actually, I... I can cut hair too."

The two people looked at each other in the mirror.

Lady Michael suddenly smiled, and Cynthia stared blankly at the lady's smile, then lowered her head and let out a soft moan.

After arranging lunch, the housekeeper, Haina, consulted with the lady of the house.

She instructed the servants to set up the dining room. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, Hena turned around respectfully and glanced at her mistress with a gesture of respect.

Hmm, Madam is as beautiful as ever... Hmm? ??

Hina suddenly looked up and froze on the spot.

The servant carrying the dishes dropped his plate onto the table, and the servant pouring juice spilled it all over the table. A terrible silence fell over the dining room.

The tall, handsome young man, dressed in a dashing male Alpha riding outfit, had his long hair cut short. His familiar face was cold and beautiful. He gracefully climbed the escalator and descended step by step, his gaze sweeping over the stunned servants before letting out a cold snort.

The housekeeper, Haina, spoke with difficulty and her face was blank: "Husband, husband, husband... people."

The short hair made Michael's already striking features even more prominent. He raised an eyebrow slightly: "What?"

Henna, the housekeeper, froze, then her face flushed red.

Just then, a very familiar voice came in: "Madam, we have fresh sturgeon today, you'll love it."

Mrs. Michael frowned. "I don't eat fish."

Cynthia: "If you finish eating, I can paint your nails for you~"

A hint of hesitation flashed across Michael's face. After a moment, he glanced lazily at Cynthia, crossed his arms, and sat down: "Hmph."

She's so annoying and irritating, ugh.

Michael discovered that Cynthia was everywhere.

Cynthia was gentle and sweet, smiling and bowing her head with a shy air about her. She massaged his legs, peeled grapes for him, washed his hands, and cooked him a meal.

He is a very virtuous Omega, so there are always servants who want to marry him.

Once, Cynthia was taken advantage of and was terrified. She came to him in a panic, throwing herself into his arms and sobbing, "Madam, Alphas are so scary, I'm so afraid."

Michael has now gotten used to falling asleep without spiked drinks. His gaze is clear and calm. He closes the ledger he is reading, hesitates for a moment, and then pats Cynthia on the back with a cold face.

Cynthia, her cheeks flushed from crying, buried herself in the lady's soft embrace, lost in thought and uttering soft sobs, "My lady, you smell so good."

Michael was oblivious to his presence. Little O was trembling weakly, and he genuinely thought Little O was terrified. He comforted him, "All Os are like this. Aren't you jasmine-scented too?"

Cynthia exclaimed, looked up, tears streaming down her face, and said, "Really? I can't smell it."

Society's constraints on ordinary Omegas are very deep. Michael touched Cynthia's neck, that soft skin, and taught him, "Here, press it yourself."

Cynthia's eyes were glazed over. With a slight effort, both Os fell onto the bed at the same time. Michael thought he had overstimulated them, so he let go: "You'll know once you try it yourself."

Cynthia buried her head in Michael's neck, her soft body like a cloud, her smooth cheeks warm, rubbing against Michael's cool, slender neck: "Madam, the scent of roses is so lovely."

Michael felt the air in the room was a bit sticky. He turned his head and exhaled. Little White Flower was supporting him from above. The button on her chest had somehow come undone. She looked at Michael for a while, then softly pressed herself against him, burying her face in his chest: "Madam, it's so hot."

Michael also felt something was unusual, but being experienced and having seen many things before, he remained unusually calm.

He coldly comforted her, "Don't be afraid, it's probably just that the glands have been stimulated."

But as an Omega, he could understand this feeling. Instead of pushing Cynthia away, he comforted her by stroking her back.

The lady smelled wonderful and felt incredibly comfortable to hold. Moreover, she was wearing a dress, which made her look even more striking with her short hair. The dress was chosen by Cynthia and had a ribbon at the back that could be easily pulled open.

The pheromones of roses and jasmine in the room blended together, gradually becoming indistinguishable. Even the usually composed Michael became slightly disoriented, feeling a slight fever creeping up his body.

"Hmm...uh...Madam, pat my back again."

Cynthia's soft little hand reached behind Michael without him noticing. Her voice was weak and pitiful, like a trembling flower: "Madam, may I pull out the ribbon?"

"Um?"

Michael narrowed his eyes, lowered his head, and met a pair of red, teary, longing eyes. After a moment, Michael snorted coldly and slightly raised his chin: "Fine..."

Cynthia raised her hand: Whoosh—

Michael: "..."

Author's Note: