Michael roused from his deep sleep, his eyes fluttering open slowly. In the soft glow of morning sunlight streaming through the window, he saw a silhouette perched at the side of his bed. All he could make out was a woman's long hair, her form bathed in golden light.
Mom?
In his drowsy state, Michael's heart leaped at the thought of his mother. But the illusion shattered when the figure spoke.
"Good morning, sunshine," Shirley's warm voice broke the quiet.
"…Good morning," Michael mumbled, still groggy.
How often had his mother woken him in the same way throughout his life? Too many times to count. But that would never happen again, not in this life.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, sitting up carefully. He needed to pull himself together—he couldn't afford to show weakness, not here.
He had to work hard, earn his keep, and repay the Winterbornes for their kindness. As his thoughts turned to Lord Winterborne and his family, a small, doll-like figure appeared in his mind.
"Ah… Is Melody okay?" he asked cautiously, the question slipping from his lips.
Shirley paused, her smile faltering for a brief moment before returning with a soft, knowing look. She reached out, ruffling his hair with a fond gesture.
"She's fine, little one. Now, let's get you dressed. We've got a busy day ahead."
Before Michael could respond, strong hands gently helped him from the bed, and a set of fresh clothes was placed into his arms.
"They arrived from the tailor this morning. It should fit you perfectly," Shirley said with a wink. "Get dressed, we're off to see Vaughn after this."
She left the room quickly, giving him some privacy.
A few minutes later, Michael stood in his freshly tailored suit. The fabric felt softer than he'd imagined, the cut perfect for his narrow shoulders and long arms, offering a surprising level of comfort. The pants no longer sagged; no makeshift belt was needed.
The door swung open suddenly, without a knock.
"Wow, you look great!" Shirley exclaimed, her hands rising to her cheeks in wonder.
"Thanks…" Michael muttered, his cheeks flushing at the compliment.
After a quick once-over, Shirley adjusted his collar with a satisfied smile before grabbing his hand and whisking him out of the room. They navigated the hallways, heading deeper into the servant's quarters until they reached a plain-looking door.
"This is Vaughn's office," Shirley explained. "If the door is ajar, you may knock once. Don't enter until you're called in."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "And if it's closed?"
Shirley's expression turned serious. "Never knock if the door is closed."
Her tone left no room for doubt—there were consequences for breaking this rule. Michael nodded, committing the warning to memory. Yesterday's mishap was still fresh in his mind.
His gaze shifted to the door, slightly ajar. With a nervous gulp, he stepped forward and knocked lightly.
"Come in," a calm, even voice called from within.
Michael turned, seeking confirmation from Shirley. She flashed him a thumbs-up, then gestured for him to enter.
With the small boost of encouragement, Michael pushed the door open slowly, revealing a small, yet neatly organized room.
At the far end, a moderately sized desk stood, and behind it sat a man with a trimmed white beard and olive skin. His head was lowered as he wrote busily with ink and parchment.
"Take a seat, Mr. Ellis," the man said without lifting his head from his work.
"T-Thank you, sir," Michael stammered, his gaze drifting around the room.
It was cozy, complete with a lounge, a bookcase, and a step ladder beside it. By all accounts, the room had everything one would need, yet the young boy couldn't shake the feeling of being stifled.
That's when he realized: there was no window. The only light in the room came from a lantern hanging from the center of the ceiling.
The longer he stared, the more oddities he noticed. There were no personal items—nothing on the desk or in the room that suggested the man had any attachment to the space. Everything appeared to be placed meticulously, almost unnervingly so.
Alarm bells began ringing in Michael's mind, reminding him of Shirley's words from the day before. She had called Vaughn "eccentric," a word he was not unfamiliar with.
Having grown up in a noble family, Michael had encountered a few such "eccentric" individuals, as his mother liked to call them.
Feeling his unease grow, Michael didn't dare make the man wait. He sat down quickly in one of the chairs in front of the desk, then waited patiently to be addressed.
He sat in silence, watching Vaughn write with practiced ease, his strokes neat and deliberate. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty. Nearly half an hour passed since Michael had entered, yet he didn't dare utter a sound.
Nature is calling…
Michael tensed, crossing his legs tightly in an attempt to control his growing discomfort. Shirley had woken him up and sent him straight to Vaughn's office, leaving him no time to relieve himself.
His fidgeting seemed to catch Vaughn's attention. The older man slowly lifted his head, his eyes meeting Michael's.
"S-Sorry, sir," Michael stammered, worried that he had somehow disturbed the man's work.
Vaughn's next words caught him off guard.
"Oh, you were so quiet, I forgot you came in," Vaughn said, scratching his head. "Right, I was meant to assign you a job today."
He placed his quill back in the inkwell, then leaned back in his chair, tapping his finger thoughtfully on the desk.
"I've decided where to assign you," he said, nodding with a sense of finality.
Michael didn't respond, simply waiting for Vaughn to finish.
"You'll be the young lady's personal butler from this point forward. Outside of night duties, you'll accompany her everywhere, both inside the manor and outside," Vaughn stated evenly.
"HUH!?" Michael blurted out, stunned by the unexpected turn.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Ellis?"
Michael could have sworn he saw the corner of the man's lips pull a brief smile as he asked this.