After taking Leon's measurements, Maeve recorded his personal preferences for reference when brainstorming designs. As they chatted, Paige knocked and entered.

"Ms. Reese," Paige reported, "Tom hasn't returned to the studio. I couldn't reach him. What should we do?"

Maeve's heart skipped a beat. Could he have attempted suicide again? Tom usually stayed close to the studio; his place was a five-minute walk away.

Without hesitation, Maeve used her spare key. "Tom? Are you home? Tom… Oh dear!"

Tom lay face down on the living room floor. Maeve's face paled. She flipped him over. "Tom? Wake up!"

Just as she was about to call an ambulance, Tom grunted and opened his eyes.

"Maeve?" he mumbled.

Relief washed over Maeve. "Are you alright? How did you faint?"

Then she saw the lower half of his face, uncovered by his scarf. She recoiled. His upper half was handsome, like an ancient Greek god—strong features, perfectly defined. The lower half was the complete opposite. Dark brown burn scars snaked from his jaw to his neck, like tangled thread, interwoven with densely packed, coagulated blood scabs. It was terrifying; Maeve's skin crawled. The scars marred his face, a crack in fine porcelain.

Tom met her gaze, realizing she'd seen his true appearance. His expression changed; he quickly pulled his scarf up. His wrist trembled.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to look," Maeve apologized, sensing his distress. She blamed herself.

Tom always wore a scarf; Maeve assumed he was cold. She never guessed he hid burn scars. She imagined a fire, the extent of the scarring horrifying.

Seeing her guilt, Tom said calmly, "You don't have to apologize. I'm sorry I scared you." Even he found his appearance repulsive; he wasn't surprised others did, too.

Maeve shook her head. "No, I don't think the scars are scary. I was once poisoned and disfigured. I avoided people for a long time; even the mirror showed me an ugly woman I despised." She laughed self-deprecatingly. "But I grew dissatisfied. Why admit defeat to a scar? Look at me now. I overcame my self-doubt."

She stood, extending a hand. "You can do the same. And the wounds can be treated."

Tom looked at her kind, serious face. His heart skipped a beat as he took her hand. He'd given up hope of recovery, but Maeve's resilience shamed him. He felt a flicker of motivation.

"Can you take me to the hospital? My stomach hurts."

"Why didn't you say so? Let's go!" Maeve exclaimed. She'd thought he was fine, nonchalant. Fainting from stomach pain was serious.

At the hospital, after checkups, the doctor diagnosed chronic gastroenteritis, caused by long-term irregular eating.

While Tom was in gastroenterology, Maeve secretly went to dermatology, getting a prescription for severe burns. She might have overstepped, but he was her subordinate; she felt responsible. Besides, he'd helped Theo significantly.

Returning with the medicine, she encountered Hudson and Clarissa Nolan, who'd just left Tom's consultation room. Tom lowered his gaze, walking past them.

"Prince Hosea!" Hudson exclaimed, grabbing his arm, his voice barely controlled, filled with joy. "Is it really you? Why are you here? Her Majesty is frantic. Your sister too!"

"You're mistaken," Tom said hoarsely, calmly withdrawing his hand. "Please move aside."

"It can't be! I know you," Hudson insisted excitedly. "We came to Setigal to find you. Our search is over!"

"Your Highness," Clarissa added, "Her Majesty is worried sick. You shouldn't be so reckless." Tom stood indifferently, clearly weary.

Maeve approached, seeing the group. "Do you know each other?"

Tom looked at her. "No. They're bothering me."

Hudson and Clarissa were shocked. Does His Highness find us annoying? they thought.

Maeve vaguely recalled they were Leon's family—the Duke and Duchess of Erancia. They likely didn't know her bodyguard, the man who used to live under the overpass.

"Let's go," Maeve said, taking Tom's prescription.

Tom followed silently. Hudson reached for him, but Clarissa stopped him.

"Can't you see something's wrong? He doesn't recognize us."

Hudson stared, shocked. "Strange. Has His Highness lost his memory?"

Clarissa's expression was grave. "It seems so. Otherwise, he'd recognize us. This is serious. We must inform Her Majesty." The queen's son, amnesiac and stranded, was a vulnerable target.

In the elevator, Maeve recalled Hudson's anxiety, doubtful.

"Tom, they seem to know you. They might know your past. Talk to them; you might remember something."

To her surprise, he refused. "Unnecessary. It doesn't matter if I remember. Things are fine as they are. And it's better if I stay away."

Maeve didn't understand. He seemed more mysterious. Is he really just a bodyguard? she wondered, dismissing the thought immediately. No matter his past, now, he was simply her bodyguard.