"Raven," Mrs. Kimberly's sharp voice sliced through the quiet hallway.
"Yes, ma'am," Raven answered automatically, wiping her hands on her apron.
"The young master just arrived. He's in the shower," the head maid said crisply. "While he's at it, go and tidy up his room. Quickly."
"Yes, ma'am." Raven started off, but a tiny click of her tongue escaped her — a habit she never quite broke.
Mrs. Kimberly's brow arched. "What was that?"
"Nothing," Raven replied too quickly.
The woman's eyes narrowed, her lips thinning. "Then move before I find something for you to explain."
"Right away," Raven muttered and hurried off, grumbling under her breath.
---
The young master's room was like stepping into another world — soft light and quiet wealth everywhere. Sunlight filtered through heavy drapes, catching on polished wood and the faint scent of sandalwood that lingered in the air.
"Wow," she whispered, spinning slowly in place. "Didn't get a proper look last time I was here. This is insane."
Her awe faded when the sound of rushing water met her ears. The shower.
Right. Focus.
"Less talking, more working," she told herself, rolling her eyes at her own distraction.
She went straight to the desk, gathering papers and dusting quickly.
Then the water stopped.
Raven froze.
The soft squeak of the bathroom door opening made her turn her head — and every rational thought fled her mind.
He stepped out, towel low on his hips, water still glistening down his chest. Dark hair damp. Muscles sculpted like marble.
Her eyes trailed upward until they landed on his face.
And her stomach dropped.
"You?!" she blurted out, voice cracking in disbelief.
Gilbert blinked, then a slow, smug smile curved his lips. "What are you doing here?"
Her eyes widened. "Wait—don't tell me—"
He crossed his arms lazily, droplets running down his forearm. "Of course I'm the owner. Who else?"
Raven's breath stuttered. Her boss. Her literal boss. Great.
Gilbert tilted his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Now my turn. What are you doing here, Raven? Don't tell me you're stalking me."
She scoffed. "Stalking you? Please. Why would I waste energy on a self-absorbed, condescending—"
Her words died. Reality hit her like a slap. She was yelling at her boss.
He noticed her hesitation and smirked wider, stepping closer. "Go on," he murmured, voice dropping lower. "Why'd you stop? Cat got your tongue?"
Raven stiffened, tilting her chin up in defiance. "I just realized I'm talking to a brick wall," she shot back.
He chuckled, clearly entertained. "Or maybe you're distracted." His tone dipped teasingly. "You've been staring."
"I have not!" she snapped, but her pulse betrayed her, beating so fast she thought he might hear it.
Gilbert's eyes flicked downward, watching her fingers tighten around the duster. "If you say so."
He stepped forward again, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. The air between them thickened. The scent of his soap — clean, sharp, intoxicating — filled her head.
Raven swallowed hard, every nerve buzzing. Why was it suddenly so hot in here?
Gilbert reached past her shoulder, his arm brushing lightly against hers. Her breath hitched.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice trembling before she could hide it.
He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. "Relax," he said smoothly, grabbing a jar of cream from the shelf behind her. "Just needed this."
Raven blinked as he straightened, casual and smug.
Then he smirked. "But hey, if you're done eyeing me like that, would you please excuse me?"
Her jaw dropped. "What? Gross! I wasn't—" She stopped herself and scowled. "You're unbelievable."
"Thank you," he said simply, tone dripping with sarcasm.
She drew in a sharp breath, refusing to let him have the last word. "Well, I'm done here," she snapped. "And for the record, there's nothing special to look at anyway."
A flicker of surprise crossed his face before it vanished behind another smirk.
Before he could reply, she spun around and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
For a moment, the room was silent — then Gilbert chuckled quietly.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, lips curving in a thoughtful smile.
"Looks like things just got interesting around here."
Meanwhile...
"You know what? I can't keep doing this," Alexander snapped, dragging a hand through his hair. His voice carried that edge between exhaustion and surrender. "Patricia, we've done everything we can, but they're inseparable. The moment you came up with this plan, I knew it wasn't going to work."
Patricia's jaw tightened. "You do not get to give up, Alexander. We've come too far for that."
He laughed bitterly. "Come too far? We're nowhere near anything! There are no results, Patricia. None! I'm done, okay? They make each other happy. So why don't we just—stop already?"
"And have a stepbrother?" Patricia fired back. "No fucking way."
Alexander turned sharply, his eyes narrowing. "What's so bad about that?"
"Everything!" she shouted. The word trembled with something deeper than anger — fear.
He stared at her, brow furrowed. "Like what?"
She opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. The constant struggle for attention... the comparisons... I barely have my mom's love as it is. But she couldn't say that. Not to him. Not when he looked so sure of himself.
Alexander's tone softened, almost as if he'd read her mind. "If you're worried about sharing your mom's attention with me, that should be the least of your problems," he said quietly. "I've lived long enough without one to actually give a damn." His voice cracked slightly — not from rage this time, but from something buried deeper. He turned to leave, his steps heavy.
Patricia's heart raced. She needed him — not emotionally, but strategically. And suddenly, like lightning, an idea struck. "I know where your mom is," she blurted.
Alexander froze mid-step. His pulse thundered in his ears as he turned, disbelief flooding his face. "What did you just say?"
"Help me break this engagement," Patricia said slowly, her voice trembling between confidence and panic, "and I'll tell you where she is."
Alexander's fists clenched. "How the hell do you know that?"
"I heard our parents talking about it," she said, too fast, too desperate — and instantly regretted it.
"My dad knows?" His tone dropped low, dangerous. His chest heaved, and his knuckles whitened. He knew... all this time, while I was searching. The betrayal hit him like a punch to the gut.
Patricia saw his anger rise and pressed on, her voice softer but laced with manipulation. "I guess he didn't tell you because he was afraid. Afraid you wouldn't support him marrying my mom. Even knowing where your real mother is... he lied, Alexander. For this."
Her words poured gasoline on the fire already burning inside him.
"Tell me where the fuck she is," he yelled, voice shaking with fury.
Patricia didn't flinch. Her lips pressed together, eyes glinting with defiance. Silence was her only weapon now.
Alexander's chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath sharper than the last. He stared at her, torn between rage and heartbreak — and then, without another word, he turned away. His shoulders tensed as though he were holding back something heavier than anger. Maybe it was grief. Maybe both.
Patricia stood frozen, her heart pounding. For the first time, she wondered if she'd just gone too far.