“Miss Ren,” a voice that’s far too loud, abruptly calls out. His voice slashes through the silence of the night like a whip, startling me half to death. I yelp, my hand flying to my chest where I’m sure my heart is about to leap from, and spin on my heel. The lantern sways in my hand, and Archie stands there, eyebrows raised with his hands clasped behind his back. I can’t tell if he’s amused or irritated, but either way, I know I’mfucked.
“Archie! Hi, I—” I stumble over my words like a fool. “I was just looking for the kitchen, hoping to grab a late-night snack.” Guilt washes over me the moment the lie leaves my tongue, but what am I supposed to tell the sweet man? That I’m doing the one thing he asked menotto do? Hard pass.
I watch as his eyes flicker from mine to the office door behind me, a smirk playing under his otherwise professional demeanour. “Is that so?”
I nod, and Archie accepts it as the truth, but I know we’re both aware it’s a lie. “Very well, Miss Ren. Let me show you the way to the kitchen,” Archie says, spinning on his heel. Relief washes over me, no longer feeling like a deer caught in headlights as I stalk obediently behind him. I notice he’s dressed in his usual formal attire—squeaky clean dress shoes and a crisp white dress shirt layered with a deep purple waistcoat. I stifle a laugh.
“Do you ever sleep, Archie?”
“I do, yes. I wake up every morning before dawn,” he informs me proudly, as we reach the staircase to the front foyer. He glances back at me, raising a questioning brow. “Doyouever sleep, Miss Ren?”
I shrug, giving him a soft smile. “Not much, I guess.”
Archie nods, seeming to understand. He leads me down the stairs and through a few short hallways on the main floor before he speaks again. “Your grandfather was a night owl, much like yourself. I never understood how he would stay up all hours of the night,” he says, chuckling. I follow him, drinking in his words as he leads me to the kitchen. “But he would say it was the only time he could think. When the world was quiet, void of any obligations. At night, he could simply be.” Archie reminisces as we come to a stop at a set of large swinging doors. A flicker of sadness washes over his features. It was only for a moment, but grief took hold of his heart, leading me to believehe had worked very closely with my grandfather for quite some time.
“How long were you his butler for?”
“Since I was eighteen years young, though, my father worked for your great-grandfather long before then. The Belmonts have been serving the Gravenhursts for decades, Miss Ren. Your grandfather meant a great deal to me, you know. A friend like no other,” he says, voice breaking ever so slightly. I want to pry for more information about the family Archie seems to know so much about, but I can see the pain behind his eyes, and though I never knew my grandfather, he was clearly family to Archie.
“Thank you for escorting me to the kitchen.” I offer him a warm smile. I want to hug the man, but something tells me he would find that incredibly irritating.
“My pleasure, Miss Ren.” He bows swiftly before walking away, and I stare after him until he’s completely out of sight, leaving me wondering which entity holds more secrets—the Gravenhurst Estate or Archie?
The swinging doors give way to the largest kitchen I’ve ever laid eyes on. Black marble floors stretch out beneath me, and an assortment of pots hang above one of the prep counters. A large island made of dark stone sits in the middle of the room, with thick wooden stools tucked neatly around it. The space feels warm, in a way the rest of the manor isn’t. A sweet smell wafts around me, urging me to take a seat at the island where a full tray of muffins is calling my name. I must admit, I’ve worked up quite the appetite from all my sneaking around.
I’m halfway to the island when I notice him. The arrogant prick from last night is leaning against the far counter. Steam curls from the mug in his hand, and he looks entirely too comfortable for this time of day. His eyes flick up slowly, and I pretend not to care as an amused smile creeps up on his lips. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hang lowon his hips, and a set of black slippers, appearing as if he’s just rolled out of bed. I swallow hard, breaking my stare when he lifts his mug to his lips, taking a sip of his coffee. His abs flex with every movement. I contemplate turning around and returning to my room, not wanting to share the space with him despite the size of the kitchen, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he gets under my skin.
Claiming the nearest stool, I snatch a muffin from the tray and sink my teeth into it without hesitation. I don’t have to look up to know his eyes are still on me, which has me shifting uncomfortably in my seat. Sure enough, as I glance back at him, he still has his eyes locked on me.
“Stop staring, creep.” My words are muffled by the large piece of muffin that I’ve yet to swallow, and I glare at him. He stays quiet, taking another sip of his coffee, and irritation burrows under my skin as he continues to stare. “What do you want, asshole?”
He pushes away from the counter, forearms flexing from the force, and it dawns on me that I’m all too aware of the way his body moves. He stalks forward and leans on the island directly in front of me, resting his elbows on the counter, and my heart flips at the close proximity. Studying his face, I’m noticing things I couldn’t see from a distance, like his eyes—a sapphire blue so sharp my breath hitches. His full lips and the light pepper of freckles dusted across his nose. He has a small scar above his eyebrow, partially hidden by his unruly ebony hair, and I itch to trace my finger over it.
“I’m just surprised to see you here at all, I suppose, after your great escape last night,” he taunts with an obnoxious smirk, and my cheeks heat at the mention of it. “It must be so hard to be handed extraordinary wealth and still be so unhappy. Poor princess, were your pillows not fluffed to your desire?”
He takes another sip, peering at me overthe brim of his mug.
My eyes narrow, and I place my muffin on the counter harder than intended. “You don’t know me.”
He huffs out a laugh, quiet but sharp. “Maybe not. But I know enough.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“That you’re ready to toss your grandfather’s legacy aside the second it asks something of you. A little work, a little responsibility, and suddenly the princess wants to run away.”
“I’m not a princess,” I spit, anger flaring inside of me.
“Sure you are,” he says, voice low. The asshole has the nerve to smirk. “A grand estate,” he raises his free hand, as if telling me to look around, “a prestigious academy, and enough money that even the generations after you would thrive off of. A rare gift placed straight into your palms, and you’re acting like it’s an inconvenience. Most people would kill for the chance you’ve been given,” He leans closer, “but go ahead. Prove me right. Walk away because the world isn’t bending to you.”
We stare at each other for a suspended heartbeat, his words settling into me like a stone sinking into the ocean. He isn’t wrong, not entirely, but I hate that his words hold even a fraction of truth. Angry tears burn the back of my eyes, but there’s no way in hell I’ll allow them to fall in front of him.
“My only parent died when I was fourteen.” My voice comes out low and laced with anger. “I spent the following night in my first foster home without a spare second to even grieve the loss of my mother, and for the next four years, I was passed between homes more often than the seasons changed. They were terrible,” I let out a dry laugh, “and that’s an understatement. They didn’t give a single fuck about me or my story; they just wanted the paycheck that came along with me. After the first year, I stopped bothering to unpack my suitcase.” I stare at him for a moment, anger rippling off of me in waves. He doesn’t say a word, just listens. “I’ve had to work for everything I’ve ever wanted since I was a child, with no one by my side, no one to protect or providefor me, not even the grandfather whoknewof the struggles I endured. A fluffy pillow is the least of my worries,” I say, beginning to walk away, then spin back on my heel again. “And you know what, maybe I don’t want toworkfor it anymore. The way I see it, the world could use a little bending,” I grit out. His jaw works beneath his flesh, then something akin to sympathy flickers behind his eyes, so quick I would’ve missed it had I not been staring directly into them, but it’s too late. Once a fire has been stoked within me, it’s not so easily put out. “So spare me the judgment. You don’t know what loss does to a person, and you sure as hell don’t know the first thing about me,asshole.” I push up from the stool, needing to get out of this kitchen before I break down completely. It isn’t until I reach the exit that he speaks again.
“I’d prefer Loxen,” he calls out, and my steps falter.
I peer over my shoulder at him. “What?”
“My name is Loxen, notasshole. Though you can call me whatever you’d like.” He smirks.
