My Pet Miad

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During my 20s, I gave myself the role of a substitute for my half-sister.
Max Warren, the enemy commander in chief who saved me from waiting to die for some time in this desolate mansion.
“You hugged me. No one else hugged me like this. Only you, master.”
The benefactor saved me from the pantomime and he adopted me as his maid. This reason alone makes me love him even more. But…
Too strange. Didn’t I say just being loved is fine. Why is my heart beating so fast, it’s like it’s getting tighter.
I wonder if it’s because I’m too greedy that tears keep flowing.
“What is going on?”
He gently put his hand on my wet cheek and smiled. I suddenly asked a question that crossed the line.
“Master…am I your pet?”
After a period of silence, he denied.
“…It’s not like that”
There’s no way I couldn’t sense that momentary hesitation from him, for I was always focused on him.
That inconclusive answer made me believe that what the other woman said was true.
“I forgot to write something to deal with. You can sleep alone today.”
He raised his voice with the utmost restraint, then erected an invisible wall and pushed me away with a tender refusal.
To you, I’m simply a pet, that’s all.