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Alistair’s POV
The house seed unusually quiet that night. Maybe it was because it was just Lious’ mother and . She was kind — the sort of woman who could make anyone feel at ho — but also a handful when she wanted to be. Still, she made sure I was comfortable, even though I could tell she wasn’t entirely used to having around yet.
By 9:30, she was already in her nightgown, preparing for her "beauty sleep," as she called it. Before heading upstairs, she told one of the maids, "If Charles cos in after ten, make sure to let know."
I smiled at her comnt, though I wasn’t sure why she seed so concerned about Charles’s curfew.
At exactly 10:04, the door opened. The sound echoed faintly in the quiet hallway.
Charles stepped in.
I had just asked the maid to make a sandwich, but I forgot all about it the mont I saw him. There was sothing heavy about his presence — like the air shifted around him. His shoulders were tense, his expression unreadable, but the gloom surrounding him was almost tangible.
I thought about saying sothing — a simple welco back maybe — but when I took a step forward, the words caught in my throat. There was a barrier between us. Not physical, but... sothing else. Sothing that warned to keep my distance.
Even his pheromones felt suffocating — restrained, but barely.
So I stepped back. Quietly. Watching him disappear down the hall without a word.
Whatever happened at that party, I could tell it wasn’t sothing small.
I told myself I’d speak to him later. After all, I was Louis’s fiancée. And Charles was just his younger brother.
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I decided to just enjoy my sandwich. The maid placed it neatly before , with a glass of milk on the side — supposedly to help sleep. That’s what they said milk did, right? It helped you sleep.
I took a slow sip, trying to convince myself it would work.
Then I heard footsteps. Soft at first, then firr — heels against polished floor. Charles’s mother.
She ca down from her room, her expression sharp and focused. I guessed the maid must’ve told her that Charles had returned past his curfew. She went straight toward his room.
I could hear her knocking — not loudly, but enough to carry through the quiet hall.
"Charles?" she called. "Charles, open the door."
No response.
Another knock. This ti, sharper.
Then his voice — muffled but clear enough to echo faintly through the hallway.
"I said I’m tired, Mother! Please, just... leave alone."
The sound startled . It wasn’t anger exactly. It was exhaustion — the kind that seeps into the bones.
His mother stood there for a mont, motionless, before sighing and turning away. She passed without a glance, heading back upstairs.
And I sat there, staring into my half-empty glass of milk, wondering what could possibly make soone’s voice sound that broken.
I headed towards my room to sleep. All I knew was that I fell asleep soti around 11 p.m. It was hard to sleep without Louis’ presence — I guess I’d gotten used to it. We’d been serious for about a year now, and... well, now I was his fiancée.
The next morning, I woke up around seven. I took a warm bath, brushed my teeth, went through my face routine, and styled my hair a bit. I decided to wear my favorite pink slippers, a white T-shirt, and... Louis’ black pants from his cupboard.
When I went downstairs, I was surprised to see his mother already awake. She looked completely put together — as if she’d been ready for hours. She wore a coppery gown, classic red lipstick, and her hair was tied neatly in a bun. A diamond necklace rested against her collarbone. Maybe I’m being too descriptive, but she really did look stunning.
Next to her was Louis’ father. He didn’t even spare a glance at first — typical of him. But after a few minutes, he looked up and greeted .
"Good morning, Alistair."
"Ah—good morning, sir."
"You don’t need to call ’sir,’" he said, almost smiling. "You can call Mr. Theo. My na’s Theodore."
He paused, as if thinking.
"Or you can call ’Father,’ like Louis and Charles do. And call my wife ’Mother.’"
He sounded friendly enough, but... there was sothing about him I couldn’t figure out. A strange kind of calm that didn’t feel comforting. I couldn’t quite place it, but it lingered.
---
Breakfast was quiet. Louis’ mother tried to make feel comfortable, though. She noticed I was wearing Louis’ pants and smiled, saying did the sa thing when she and Theodore had just gotten married. We laughed for a while until the silence returned.
Theodore wasn’t much of a talker, but he was affectionate toward his wife — and that was a good thing to see.
A few minutes later, they both left for an important event. Before she went, Louis’ mother placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and told to look after Charles. "He can be temperantal," she said, "but he’s really soft inside. Emotional, too. Always look out for him, Alistair." She smiled as she said it, then left with her husband.
I sat alone at the table for a while, finishing my breakfast, when I saw Charles coming down the stairs. He looked exhausted — dark circles under his eyes, his expression dull. It was clear he hadn’t slept, and... maybe he’d been crying.
I wasn’t sure what to say. There was this heavy aura around him that made the air feel tight. Still, he mumbled a barely audible "good morning."
"Good morning, Charles," I replied softly. "How are you doing this morning." I asked, he grunted in response while rubbing his eyes.
I asked the maid to bring him sothing to eat, but he refused, saying he wasn’t hungry. I rembered he hadn’t eaten last night either, so I had assud he’d eaten at the party. But now, looking at him, I wasn’t so sure.
I gestured for him to sit, and he did — quietly, his head slightly lowered.
"What’s going on, Charles?" I asked. "You don’t seem yourself. You’re usually so cheerful.
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