An hour ago, I was relaxing on the couch with Pip, trying to figure out what to watch until heading to bed. I was planning what I was going to spend tomorrow doing. A day off work usually means laundry, cleaning, and not meal prepping even though I’d spent the last few days planning on doing it finally. I was going to make mac and cheese, plan to save half for a second meal, but end up eating too much right away and feeling bad about it. I was going to-
“MEROOOOOW.”
-let Pip out of his carrier right away.
Chapter 32
Alex
Breakfast in this house has always felt like a performance, especially now with Liv watching everything like it’s all new to her. But since it is, I guess it makes sense.
The dining room is too large for three people. It’s polished and precise with sunlight spilling through the tall windows and catching on crystal and silver like everything here was designed to reflect light.
And then there’s Liv next to me, seeming small and embarrassed to be in here. She doesn’t think she belongs here, I can see it all over her face.
After getting back here last night, I spoke with Wilfred quickly about Pip’s needs. He promised to have everything taken care of by morning and he wasn’t kidding. The manor looks like it’s been baby-proofed for a gymnast-gifted toddler. I don’t know how he came up with as many sets of cat-sized stairs as he did. All of the couches, Dad’s desk in his home office, and even the windowsills in the library all have stairs leading to them. He also set up a few litter boxes around the manor so Pip would always be near one.
I lead Liv to the two seats near the head of the table. They’re already set but are not served yet. Dad should be down at anymoment. Breakfast has always been his favorite meal of the day, so I know he won’t be long.
As if he knew I was thinking about him, he walks into the room, dressed for the day and sporting a smile directed at Liv.
“Liv,” I say, stepping forward. “This is my father, Arthur.”
He doesn’t rush; he never does. “Olivia,” he says, offering a hand. “It’s good to see you again.” His voice is warm with practice. It’s controlled in a way that reads as effortless unless you know what to look for.
Liv takes his hand. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
My good, polite girl. She’s measured, not submissive.
“I insist,” he replies smoothly. “Anyone important to my son is welcome here.”
His words land for her, I can see it in her expression. Her shoulders shift just slightly, calming down a fraction.
“Please,” he adds, gesturing to the table. “Sit.”
We do.
Wilfred appears like he's been waiting just out of sight, materializing from the shadows with an almost supernatural stillness. His posture is ramrod straight, a testament to decades of disciplined service, and he moves with the economy of motion that comes from a lifetime of practice. Though elderly, his shoulders remain broad under the impeccably tailored butler's uniform, and his hands, though spotted with age, are steady as he places a plate in front of Liv with quiet efficiency. His face is a roadmap of his years, with deep-set eyes that miss nothing and a mouth perpetually pressed into a neutral line that somehow conveys both sternness and understanding. Even his white hair is perfectly styled, not a single strand out of place, completing the picture of a man who has dedicated his entire existence to the art of silent and impeccable service.
“Miss,” he says with a small nod.
She blinks at him for half a second. “Uh, thanks.”
Wilfred doesn’t react, just continues his work like this is routine. To him, it is. To her… not even close.
“You’ll have a driver while you’re here,” my father states as he picks up his coffee. “To and from your shifts.”
Liv looks up immediately. “That’s not necessary-”
“It is,” I cut her off.
Her gaze snaps to mine.
“This isn’t optional,” I add, quieter.
She studies me for a few seconds, then nods once. “Okay.”
My father watches the exchange with quiet interest. He doesn’t comment on it. Of course he doesn’t.
