Chapter twelve
Arthur
The driver opens our door. Lindsay steps out, pausing briefly to take in the façade before following me inside.
I don’t slow.
Steven is already waiting in the foyer, posture perfect, expression professionally neutral.
"Steven," I say. "This is Lindsay. She'll be living here now."
Steven’s eyes widen for half a second before his composure snaps back into place.
"Ma'am," he says smoothly, inclining his head. "Welcome."
Lindsay blinks at the title but recovers quickly.
"Just Lindsay is fine," she says.
Steven's mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but close.
"Of course. If you need anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask."
I gesture toward the hall.
"Steven runs the household. If you need something, ask Steven."
Lindsay nods, still taking everything in. The marble floors. The vaulted ceilings. The chandelier that cost more than most people earn in a year.
I move through the space without waiting, pointing out what matters as we go.
"Kitchen is through there. Staff entrance on the left. Dining room we rarely use. Library—mostly for show. My office is upstairs, first door on the right. Off limits unless invited."
I don't mean to sound curt. This is simply how I operate. Information delivered clearly, without excess.
Lindsay follows without comment, her footsteps quiet on the stone.
She doesn't interrupt or fill the silence with nervous chatter, which I appreciate.
Silence is easier to manage.
She moves through the space carefully, like she understands that this house has rules even if no one has said them out loud. Like she knows that breaking them has consequences.
We pass the grand staircase, continue down another hall.
"Guest suites are on the second floor, west wing. Staff quarters are separate. Security monitors the perimeter. Gates lock automatically at nine."
I glance back once.
She's still listening. Still observing. Her ridiculous, sparkling monstrosity of a handbag catches light from the windows as she shifts it higher on her shoulder.
"Your suite is upstairs," I add. "Third door on the left. It has its own bathroom. Closet space. Privacy."
Lindsay slows slightly at that.
"My suite," she repeats.
"Yes."
