Dinner unfolded with an almost unnatural grace, every movement precise, every sound restrained. Yet beneath that quiet order, the silence pressed heavily, thick enough to be felt in every breath I took.
Across from me, the Young Master ate with effortless composure, untouched by the weight that seemed to settle over me alone. The food was exquisite, each bite rich and perfectly prepared, but I could barely taste it. My attention betrayed me again and again, drawn irresistibly to him, I told myself not to look. Still, my eyes wandered.
A glance… then another… each one lingering a second too long, as though something within me refused to obey reason. And then
"Jennie," his voice cut gently through the silence, calm yet unyielding. "Is there something on my face… or is there something you wish to say?"
My hand froze mid-air, the spoon trembling slightly between my fingers. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and for a moment, words abandoned me entirely. Think. Say something. Anything.
Luckily, then a memory surfaced, fragile but timely.
"I… I…" My voice faltered before finding its footing. "Emily and I went to the garden earlier this week." I swallowed softly, forcing the rest out despite the unease curling in my chest. "And something felt… off. Like we were being watched." I hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around the spoon. "I thought maybe she was just being dramatic."
The shift was immediate. Subtle, yet unmistakable. The warmth around him vanished, as though extinguished by an unseen hand. His expression didn't change drastically, but the air did go colder, sharper… dangerous in a way that made my breath catch.
The Young Master's face had gone still. Too still.
His knife came to rest against the porcelain plate. No clatter. No force. Just a finality that made the candle flames seem to hold their breath.
"When," he said.
It wasn't a question. It was a fact he expected me to supply.
"Tuesday," I whispered. My voice sounded foreign. "In the center of the garden… there was a figure…. I didn't see it clearly."
He didn't blink. Didn't nod. He just absorbed it, the way a blade absorbs light before it cuts.
"Did they touch you?"
The words were soft. Too soft. The kind of soft that came before something broke.
"No," I said quickly. "No, Young Master. I didn't… I didn't see anyone. It was just a feeling. Like eyes on the back of my neck. Emily said"
"Emily," he repeated, tasting the name, discarding it. "You felt it."
"Yes."
My heart started racing .
"Eat, Jennie."
I stared at him. "What?"
His grey eyes didn't waver. "Your dinner will get cold. Eat. You've had a rough day, Jennie."
There was no heat in the command. No anger. Only that same terrible certainty that had made me straighten a perfect plate without knowing why.
My hand shook when I lifted the spoon. I forced a bite past my lips. It tasted like fear at first sharp, metallic but I chewed. I swallowed. Because refusal did not exist where he stood.
He watched me take three bites. Then he pushed back from the table.
Only then did he speak again.
"Mr. Reg."
The name did not rise. It settled into the air, quiet, yet heavy enough to make my fingers still against the spoon. For a brief second, nothing happened. And in that second, something tightened in my chest. Why call him now? How could he hear his name from the center of the table?
The door opened.
Not abruptly. Not slowly. Precisely.
Mr. Reg stepped inside with composed ease, as though he had already been on his way the moment his name was spoken. His posture was immaculate, his expression smooth, but his eyes moved once, quickly, taking in the room. Taking in me.
"Sir," he said softly, inclining his head.
Young Master did not answer immediately. He let the silence stretch, deliberate, controlled, until even the faint clink of my spoon against the plate felt too loud.
Then, calmly
"Close the door. Make sure nobody is listening in."
Mr. Reg obeyed at once. The soft click echoed far longer than it should have. Something in my chest tightened further.
Young Master's gaze shifted, finally leaving me to rest on him.
"The heart of the garden. Tuesday evening." His tone was even, almost conversational. "Cameras. Staff rotations. Anyone present."
"I want names." He said coldly
Mr. Reg did not react outwardly, but there was a subtle sharpening in his eyes now, something alert beneath the polish.
"Understood, sir."
"And Mr. Reg…"
I could hear my breath still
"Nothing leaves this room.
Another slight incline of the head from Mr Reg. "Of course."
My grip on the spoon tightened.
This isn't just concern…
Young Master continued, his voice quieter now, but somehow heavier.
"If there was a lapse, I want to know why. Organize a meeting with Mark and Samantha immediately you find out."
"Yes, sir."
"If there wasn't," he added, his gaze flicking briefly back to me before returning, "then I want to know who thought they could stand in my garden without permission."
The words settled into the room like something final.
Mr. Reg held his gaze. "I will have everything for you by morning."
"Tonight," Young Master corrected coldly.
Then, without hesitation, "Tonight, sir."
"Discreetly."
A faint, knowing curve touched Mr. Reg's lips. "Naturally."
"Bring it to me personally."
"Yes, sir."
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Mr. Reg inclined his head once more and stepped back. The door closed gently behind him.
The silence that followed was no longer gentle. It watched.
I swallowed, lowering my gaze to my plate, but I could still feel it pressing against my skin.
The silence that followed did not soften.
It settled, dense and deliberate, pressing into the space between us until even the candlelight seemed to hesitate.
I kept my gaze lowered. The food was still warm, still perfectly arranged, but whatever taste it once held had faded. I forced myself to take another bite, then another, chewing slowly, mechanically. Across from me, he continued as if nothing had changed, each movement precise, unhurried, untouched.
Porcelain met silver in quiet, measured intervals. Nothing else moved.
"Are you done, Jennie?"
I looked down at my plate. I had barely eaten.
"Yes," I said.
"You should eat more."
"I tried."
My voice came out softer than I intended.
He studied me, not with concern, not quite. Something quieter. Something assessing.
"Fear dulls the senses," he said. "It shouldn't control them."
My fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of my shirt
"I'm not afraid."
The words felt thin the moment they left me.
His gaze didn't shift. "No?"
I hesitated, then shook my head. "Just unsettled."
I could hear my breathing slipping slowly
"Then learn the difference."
The weight of it settled deeper than the words themselves. I lowered my eyes again.
"Then you may retire for the night," he said.
Relief came quietly this time, not rushing, just easing into the tightness in my chest.
"Thank you, Young Master."
I stood, careful and controlled. My chair made no sound as I stepped away.
"Jennie."
I stopped.
"If anything feels off again," he said, "you will report it immediately."
"Yes, Young Master."
"Even if you think it is nothing."
"I understand."
Silence echoed in my mind
"Good."
I turned and walked toward the door. I did not look back.
Still, I felt it. That steady, unbroken awareness, resting on me, following every step until my hand touched the handle. It did not lift when I opened the door. It did not lift when I stepped through.
Only when the door closed behind me did I breathe properly again.