Chapter 07

  The Son Returns

  Before my eyes can open, my body feels stripped. Robbed of something I cannot identify, that I cannot recall ever having.

  Not wiped clean in a way that's refreshing, or similar to unloading a heavy burden off one's shoulders. Instead, there is a gaping hole in the depths of my soul, hollow and left wanting, as if ransacked by a thief in the night. My body feels inexplicably lighter, physically so. The sense of loss is too great—too real—to dismiss.

  Right before dawn is when I awake. The moon can barely be seen through the many clouds in the sky, a sombre blend of blue and grey. My eyes tear up as I blink away the dryness of cold, still air. I sit up too quickly and my head spins. A sudden wave of nausea forces my eyes shut as I try to push down the sickening feeling.

  Everything feels off. Distorted. My organs feel rearranged, shuffled. All out of place. Whatever happened last night legitimately affected me.

  I do not usually remember my dreams, but this one feels extra vivid somehow. Perhaps, it has something to do with the current state of my body.

  Aca, the winged angel and his unsettling words, insinuating the end of the world. Even now, I can recall every sensation. My blood boiling in that noxious heat, my skin ripping apart as easily as wrapping paper, and the radiant warmth of Aca's presence amidst the empty void.

  Everything that he said, that he showed, could it be the truth?

  No no no.

  What am I even saying?

  The world is not ending. I am not insane, and I refuse to give in to this madness. Though, my body doesn't seem to agree, given that I'm still shaking.

  I better get some breakfast.

  I get out of my bed and head for the door.

  “Ah!” I stop, remembering something. Don’t want to forget the birthday girl. Quietly, I head over to my desk and fish out a small notepad and a pen. I write,

  Happy 18th Stella!

  I’m very sorry but I don’t think I can make it today

  I will try to end as soon as possible, but in case I don’t make it, I want to say....

  keep being the special girl that you are!

  And now, the best adult I know!

  Say hi to Mr and Mrs Pierce for me

  With some sticky tape, I slap the note on the door before leaving.

  Was the cafeteria always this quiet in the morning?

  I recall the several mornings before, it didn’t look that much different, but it was definitely a lot less noisier now. That angel… he sure was boisterous.

  Nope, stop.

  Why am I still thinking about him? It was all in my head. It was my messed-up head that was boisterous, that's right. After all, the end of the world and prophecies?

  Yeah.

  No way.

  Clang!

  A maid slams down her platter of food on the table and sits beside me. Letting out a sigh, she whines, “Well, there goes my beauty sleep.” The upset lady huffs loudly, stuffing a piece of chicken in her mouth.

  "Out of thousands of maid, and I had to be the one drawn," she growls.

  Ah, that's right.

  She's one of the few picked from the random draw last afternoon, unexpectedly chosen to work the following morning as part of the young master's welcoming squad.

  “Hah, right back at you,” I chuckle. Though, it wasn't the same for the two of us. It wasn't equal probability that got me here. With Marbury around as your head maid, the probability of getting extra work is undoubtedly a 100%. To her, it only makes sense to discipline the ungrateful, unwanted, and unnecessary and remind them daily of their place.

  Aren't I so loved?

  My coworker beside me groans, “I mean like, why must he arrive in the morning? Why must there be twenty staff? Winter just ended, but it’s still freezing cold! Is the young master’s return really that important?”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  I fiddle with my food, swirling my spoon in circles through the creamy chicken soup.

  “Sure it is,” I respond, “He’s the sole heir, after all. Plus, it’s been a decade since he left and the first time he’s visiting since. In fact, I’m not even sure why he is…”

  “Woah, that’s true. 10 years, huh? That’s almost as long as you’ve been working here, Belle. Is studying abroad that fun?”

  “I don’t know if it was fun… or was just the only way to escape,” I whisper the last part.

  "By the way," she taps me on the shoulder, "Everything alright?" I stop eating and look at her, not sure what the problem is.

  "Sorry?"

  "You're a bit pale," she explains. Now that she mentions that, I do feel a little faint. Like I've been caught up in a brain fog all morning.

  "I guess I'm just missing sleep," I say. Though, in reality, I know better. Ever since I sprung out of bed, my mind has been continuously replaying that nightmare.

  “Aren't we all?" the maid sighs, "Let’s finish up first. Miss Marbury’s gonna be on our asses if we’re even a second late.”

  “Mmhmm,” I stuff a spoonful of broccoli in my mouth.

  . , ; , . , ; , .

  A line of staff stand between the gate and the front entrance of the mansion. At the front, Marbury the head maid and the head butler wait patiently as the first ones to greet the son of the Duke. Being somewhere in the middle, my job is somewhat simple. Just bow your head when he approaches and follow the person next to you when we walk back into the mansion after him. Nothing much to it, really. It’s practically impossible for anything to go wrong.

  Two carriages, each dragged by a pair of brown horses, finally appear on the gravel road.

  The first one stops right at our feet, the door to the carriage perfectly facing a golden carpet that’s been rolled out specifically to celebrate his return, or perhaps the completion of his first year in Fluor Academy. The second carriage, typically packed with nothing but cargo, is parked just behind.

  The carpet is indeed a bit much, but considering the young master, the sole heir of the Dukedom of Rutherford, is returning after 10 years, it is understandable.

  The coachman hops out of his seat to open the door, but it opens before he can even sink his feet in the dirt. The door swings forward and out walks a pair of tall, black boots. His steps are firm and confident, a genuine sense of authority in his gait alone.

  Though I know who the man is, there is a strange, subtle feeling of unfamiliarity. This is the young master, fully grown up.

  Adrian Rutherford.

  Son of James Oliver Rutherford.

  Sole heir to the Dukedom of Rutherford.

  And previously, the 13 year old boy with soft ruby eyes who hid me from his father in a closet.

  “If you’re not planning on getting out, you can go home,” orders the young master. His low, cold voice catches me off guard. Then again, I guess a lot would have to change in 10 years. I look up, just to catch a quick glimpse of him, but I almost gasp out loud instead.

  The man wearing a beige commoner’s tunic and brown pants is nearly unrecognizable, his clothing much too simple for his status. Still, they fit perfectly on him, like a farmer’s outfit tailored exactly to his build. The short sleeve tightly cups around his broad shoulders, his loose shirt unable to hide the muscular physique beneath. A jaw angled to a V-shape replaces the baby cheeks I once remembered in that prepubescent boy. Above his sleek, rose-tinted eyes, his short sandy blonde hair hangs loosely, curving upwards at the ends.

  Adrian looks at neither Marbury, nor the head butler, nor anyone from the mansion for the matter. Instead, his steel ruby eyes bore lazily backwards into the carriage, toned arms resting firmly on his hips.

  “Hah! You couldn’t even wait a second, Adrian,” a playful voice comfortably calls out the young master’s name, as if he were not referring to a reputable Duke’s son but his little brother instead.

  My attention switches to the unexpected visitor.

  A man with a height similar to Adrian’s pops out of the carriage. Unlike Adrian, however, he is dressed like a proper noble. A smooth, long sleeve white-collared shirt tucks neatly beneath a gold-buttoned navy vest.

  But what captivates me most is his hair and eyes. An mesmerizing shade of platinum, glistening like falling snow on an early winter morning. Below his long, delicate lashes, amethyst eyes paint his face like stars on a canvas resembling the night sky.

  Can a man be this pretty?

  Is that allowed?

  He's almost as blinding as... nope. Don't even think about Aca the illusion, unless you really want to go mad.

  I blink my thoughts away and focus my attention back to the visitor. Despite his formal attire and neat hair, his walk is arrogant and far from regal. There’s a frivolous glint in his eyes. I pull my gaze away, afraid to catch his.

  I turn to Marbury to check if she was aware of the young master’s accompanying party, but her face shows otherwise. In fact, it’s quite hilarious actually. Her wide eyes and twitching smile is the first I have seen in a long time.

  Adrian’s peculiar friend seems to take notice of Marbury’s discomfort. He walks over and greets the head maid with a kiss to the back of her hand.

  “Call me Chris. Thank you for having me.”

  His voice melts like honey. The sudden change of character from ‘wild and free’ to ‘textbook gentleman’ is so mind-boggling that even Marbury stands utterly dumbfounded. The man named Chris doesn’t stop there and continues refining his gentlemanly swagger, “My sincerest apologies for showing up so rudely like this, without prior notice.” His coy, light hearted persona completely vanishes.

  “Ah.” Marbury flinches.

  I can see the gears running in her head. She’s listing every noble family, scrolling endlessly until she finds the correct ‘Chris’ standing in front of her.

  I may have a certain, perhaps exponential, degree of dislike for Marbury, but I have to respect her dedication to the job, which is why I’m a bit surprised that it’s taking so long for her to figure this out. It's not like he's exactly very plain either. Quite the contrary, his impression is rather strong. The silver hair, violet eyes, and—to be real honest—killer looks.

  “Though I wish he would introduce me, it seems like I must forgive him. My junior gets incredulously shy at times,” Chris winks at Adrian, who snorts in response.

  “I see, so you must be a friend from the Academy?” asks Marbury, still lost in her catalogues.

  “Correct, Adrian is my junior by a year. Although, it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. Now, would you be so kind as to serve us some tea while we catch up on all that we’ve missed, my fair lady?”

  Marbury’s cheeks turn a shade of cherry and she stutters, “O-o-of course, I lo—uh, I mean, we would love to serve any guest of Rutherford.”

  To make a woman twice your age blush and fumble over her words... what a cunning young man, this Chris.

  I don’t know whether to laugh or be on guard.

  “Sir Heath—,” Marbury points to the head butler, “—will lead you to the living room. Please make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be with you shortly with tea and bis—”

  “Her.”

  My eyes shoot to Adrian along with everyone else’s. His deep, resonant voice pierces like an arrow in the dark, impossible to ignore.

  It is then that my breath catches in my throat.

  How long has he been staring at me?

  “She’ll serve us,” Adrian commands.