Mia rushed to the dining table, panic clear in her trembling voice.

“Young Master, the food was prepared by Madam. She woke up early this morning just to make it for you. Is... is there something wrong with it?”

Henry’s fork clattered against the plate as his eyes darkened. His voice was sharp, dripping with disdain.

“Something wrong? She’s blind, Mia. Blind! How can she cook for me? Are the kitchen maids trying to kill me? And you—aren’t you supposed to be watching her? If she’s blind, are you blind too?!”

Mia froze, her throat tight.

Henry jabbed a finger at the plate. “Too much grease—and shrimps. How can there...