Chapter 5: The Unsettling Hunger
After freshening up, I headed downstairs to the dining room. The air smelled like something warm and comforting, the kind of scent that made your stomach growl before you even saw the food.
Fred was there, as usual, arranging the table with his calm and practiced hands while the servants moved quietly, serving dishes with precision.
"Master Liam, you're here," Fred said softly, his voice carrying that gentle respect I'd grown up hearing. "Come, sit and have your dinner."
I offered him a small smile and walked toward the long dining table. "Yes… thank you, Sir Fred," I replied as I slid into my seat.
Fred's lips curved into a smile—kind, almost fatherly—and he gave a small nod, as if acknowledging my gratitude without words.
The aroma of the meal reached me fully now, and when I saw the plate being placed in front of me, my mood lifted immediately. Spaghetti. My favorite. Just like Fred promised earlier. A grin tugged at my lips as I picked up my fork.
The first bite melted on my tongue. Soft noodles, rich tomato sauce, the right amount of seasoning—it was perfect. So good it almost made up for skipping breakfast this morning. Almost.
I was halfway through the plate when Fred's voice drifted again, polite and calm as always:
"Young Master, you're here. Come have your dinner."
The sound of approaching footsteps made my stomach twist in an entirely different way. I froze mid-chew, my fork pausing in the air. Slowly, I glanced up and—of course—there he was.
Micah.
He strolled into the dining room like he owned the entire world, like he was untouchable. Calm. Graceful. That expression of his—serene, almost detached—never gave away anything he was feeling. If he even felt anything at all.
He sat down opposite me, across the gleaming table, without so much as glancing in my direction. Not even once.
'Damn it,' I cursed internally. 'If I'd eaten faster, I could've avoided this.'
Reluctantly, I lowered my eyes back to my plate, pretending like his presence didn't affect me. But it did. God, it did.
I forced myself to chew, to swallow, to act normal, but every nerve in my body screamed at me. Because this—this indifference of his—it shouldn't hurt as much as it did. Yet every time he ignored me, it carved something raw inside my chest.
'As usual… he has no regard for me. No interest. Nothing.'
The thought stung harder than I wanted to admit. And what scared me most was that I was starting to lose control of myself. These feelings—they were twisting into something bigger, something dangerous. Something I couldn't stop even if I tried.
The dining room fell silent except for the soft clink of cutlery. Time dragged like an eternity. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
I stood up abruptly, pushing my chair back with a scrape that sounded louder than it should have. Forcing a polite smile toward Fred, I said, "Sir Fred, I'm done with my food. Thank you."
Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and walked out quickly. Too quickly. Almost running.
Behind me, Fred's voice called out, puzzled: "But Master Liam, you're clearly not done…"
I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. My pulse was hammering in my ears.
"Hmm? He's running…" Fred's words faded as I climbed the stairs two steps at a time.
"Let him be, Fred," came Micah's voice, calm and indifferent as ever.
Even when talking about me, his tone didn't waver. Didn't warm. It was just… flat.
"Okay, Young Master," Fred murmured, though I could imagine his confusion.
I collapsed onto my bed the second I reached my room, burying my burning face into the pillow. My ears were on fire. My neck, too. My whole body felt like it was overheating.
'Ahhh… what the hell is wrong with me?'
Because all I could think about was him. Micah. Sitting there, eating like he had all the time in the world. That calm posture. That jawline. Those lips—God, those lips—moving slowly as he chewed.
And then the memory hit me like a punch. Last night's dream.
My breath caught. I groaned into the pillow, wanting to disappear.
'Why… why did I dream something like that?'
His lips on mine, warm and soft yet firm. His hands gripping me like I belonged to him. His body pressed against mine, so close there was no space left. Skin against skin, heat sinking into every inch of me.
It had felt so real. Too real.
'Micah's not even a girl,' my panicked thoughts raced. 'I've known that since we were five. So why do I… why do I want him like this?'
Because I did. God help me, I wanted him.
In that dream, he wasn't just kissing me—he was devouring me. His breath hot against my ear, his low gruff sounds making my skin shiver in the best way possible. And those eyes… those green emerald eyes staring down at me, dark with something that looked like hunger.
The pleasure—I couldn't even explain it. His body, all lean muscle and heat, moving against mine, dripping sweat that slid down to my skin. It was overwhelming, consuming… and perfect.
I woke up shaking, gasping—and wet. The mess in my pants had been humiliating, but worse was the truth it revealed.
'I… I desire him,' I admitted to myself for the first time, chest tight with shame and something else I didn't want to name.
A sharp ache in my body pulled me back to reality. I glanced down—and froze.
Hard. Again.
My breath hitched as I stared at the obvious bulge beneath the sheets, throbbing painfully.
'Why… why now?'
Panic clawed up my throat. I had to do something, anything, before I completely lost it. Maybe a cold shower. Yes. A cold shower.
I swung my legs off the bed, ready to bolt for the bathroom—
Knock.
I froze.
"Liam."
His voice.
Micah's voice.
My entire body stiffened. My throat went dry.
'Why is he here? What does he want?'
"I'm coming in," he said after a pause, his tone firm.
My heart leapt into my throat. Shit.
I scrambled back onto the bed, yanking the duvet over myself from head to toe, hiding the very thing he had unknowingly caused. My pulse thundered in my ears as the door opened.
Footsteps. Slow. Unhurried.
"What are you doing?" Micah's voice cut through the silence, smooth but edged with curiosity.
I didn't answer. Couldn't.
Through the small gap near the edge of the blanket, I saw him standing there, his tall frame casting a shadow across the floor. Those emerald eyes fixed on the suspicious lump that was me.
'Shit, shit, shit—I'm done for.'