If dinner taught me anything that night, it was that I was in desperate need of a new family.
Or maybe a small cave in the mountains where no one knows my name.
Whichever was less likely to give me wrinkles at fifteen.
I'd barely survived their chaos—and now thruding my way to face another.
Clearly, this universe was still flipping through my life like a script they couldn't care to edit.
As the argument began to escalate into a full-blown matrimonial circus—
Gia shouting, "Iris deserves a Prince!,"
Mia countering, "A strategist would be so much more beneficial,"
and Theo threatening to duel with every and all prospects—
I did as an sane person would. I quietly–quietly–slid out of there.
Not one of them noticed.
I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have noticed even if I'd moonwalked out with fireworks strapped to my back.
It was longest I've seen them engaged in a conversation... of a sort.
.><><><.
The cool night breeze hit me like a mercy blessing as I walked through the archway.
And for one blissful second, I felt free.
Before coming face to face with my study door.
Slightly open.
Lamplight spilling into the hallway like it held something immaculate inside.
I pushed it open.
And there he stood.
Cael Vermin.
Standing perfectly still in front of my desk, hands clasped behind his back, looking like the older brother no one asked for.
He glanced over his shoulder at me.
His eyes widened a bit.
"What?" I asked..
"I'd heard the rumors," he said.. "but your eyes... they're truly incredible."
Did he have a thing against straight forward answers.
"Okay... Why are you here?, so late. Again"
He first proceeded to bow. Absolutely uncalled for. "My lady," he said, voice smooth and infuriating. "you asked for updates, and I delivered."
I stared—faltlined.
He continued, with the tiniest, smuggest tilt of his head,
"And only in fourteen hours."
I could feel the urge in my nerves to strangle at least three years off his life-span. But I refrained, my hands were probably too frail to commit murder.
"And?..."
I closed the door behind me with the slow, deliberate care of a thief.
Because it was half pass sleep o'clock…
He straightened up, then gestured at the logbook on the desk.
"It quiet alot," he said. "but I managed to arrange a meeting with a specialist for the pen and the chair. They'll have sketches ready for you in two days, at most. For you to approve—patterns, materials, engraving, et cetera. Before signing"
"Two days," I repeated flatly.
"Yes, my lady." He remained composed. Then, like it was an afterthought, he added, "And the plumbing architect will be here at first light—."
I froze. "... What do you mean first light?"
"Earliest of morning."
{What?} I walked over to the couch, slowly settling into it.
{A plumber?, tomorrow... morning!—how am I even supposed to explain that to Carl. Or Rosie.}
"And they're...Male?"
"Yes."
"Old?"
"Mid-twenties at least."
I signed from my mouth, holding my hand up with my hands.
"Cael."
"Yes?"
"You schedule a young man—a stranger—to come into my house—into my bedroom—without consulting me first?"
He didn't even flinch. almost like he'd expected the question.
"He insisted he must examine the foundation personally," he said evenly. "Apparently, 'plumbing' would require assessing your bathing chambers firsthand. That is where your notes stated."
I stared at him. Contemplating. He probably thought I still didn't get it, so he went on with...
"The profession demands—"
"Stop talking."
He stopped.
I pressed my palms to my face. For a full five seconds. I can the headlines: Lady Iris Hampton lets mysterious man into her private quarters.
{I'm not sure they have news though}
"Ugh.." I groaned
Carl would faint. Rosie would turn me into a monk. And Theo 'd probably kill someone.
But then—ah..—the image of Lauren carrying pails of freezing water came to mind. Emily too, before she got married. The old ladies who keep slipping and breaking their hips.
I finally had a chance to help them, and I'd be benefiting too.
I exhaled slowly. "Fine."
"Fine?" Cael asked, sounding way too satisfied.
"I'm not repeating myself."
He bowed. Again. He's always bowing, like his spine couldn't hold him up for long. "Understood."
"But," I said, narrowing my eyes. "If that man so much as touches a hairbrush, I'll hold you responsible."
He looked... mildly entertained. "I'll take full responsibility," he said. "You won't be alone with him at all."
I relaxed—head still throding. "Now how do I explain his visit to Carl?."
He straightened, almost smiling. "We could easily smuggle him in through the east gate, it's nearly abandoned."
"We have an east gate?"
"Yes."
I squinted at him. "Hiw do you know that?."
He didn't respond.
"I didn't know that, and I live here. Who are you?"
He inclined his head. "Your loyal servant, my lady."
If I'd had something within reach, I might've thrown it.
The faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Your eyes," he said suddenly, "are even brighter when you're annoyed."
{I wish I could murder you with my eyes.}
"If smuggling him in proves too... risky for your tastes. I could suggest a counter plan."
" To counter what? "
" My previous plan to smuggle him in."
I leaned my head back into the couch. {Maybe I should just escape to the mountains}
" Are you normal at all?"
"Essentially."
.><><><.
"I'm cutting off access to my wing," I said, arms crossed. Like that might make my brave posture convincing.
Carl's glasses tilted.
Rosie erupted. "What?" gracefully—naturally.
"Only temporarily. For a personal project. A renovation of a sort." I kept my gaze steady.
{Maybe I should've changed clothes first, I mean It's not even bright out yet.}
Rosie was already frowning like she could smell my white lie.
«What kind of ruckus is she on about now..»
"Ahem."
Carl's gaze had been ping-ponging between me and Cael since the moment he sat down.
Inviting Rosie and Carl into my study was not my idea. They had never stepped foot in here—literally ever—until Cael dragged them in like this was his house.
Cael—the menace—stood behind me.
Also in last night's clothes.
Carl's eyes bounced between us like he was watching a questionable stage play.
His thoughts were worse.
«Her rumpled clothes do suggest… no. Don't assume. But if they slept together, wouldn't that mean—No. No… but his hair— no, Carl, don't assume. Lady Iris would never. But then again, she is at that age…»
He didn't show on his face though.
Still, I wanted to rip my ears off.
{Me and that deranged nut job?! Please, just stop talking, Carl.}
I inhaled. Exhaled. Did not scream.
"What kind of renovation?" he finally asked. Mind still spiraling.
«That young man better not have anything to do with this sudden decision.»
"Ah—" I was struggling to form a sentence.
"Lady Iris only wishes to modify the spaces she finds inconvenient." Cael's voice slithered in behind me. polite and annoyingly smooth.
"I didn't ask you," Carl said flatly, cutting him down with one glare.
{...wow.}
"Of course. My apologies."
I turned, half-expecting Cael to be halfway into a bow.
Or startled. even slightly.
Nothing.
He looked… pleased. He was enjoying himself.
"He's right," I said. "And from now on, he has every right to speak in my stead, as he's my new Aide."
Cael blinked—shocked—then, unexpectedly, smiled.
Soft. Real.
Rosie exploded. "AIDE?!"
"Yes." I turned sharply. "Is there a problem?"
«You imbecile! He may be the second son of a Marchess, but he's still high nobility. Why would you—»
"He offered," I said. "And I thought, why not?" I shrugged like my nerves weren't actively unraveling.
"Is that so?" Rosie narrowed her eyes at me suspiciously.
«She's hiding something. She's DEFINITELY hiding something. That the tone she uses when she's lying but trying not to sound like she's lying.»
How is she this readable.
"Yes, ma'am," Cael said, stepping forward with the confidence of someone who's never regretted anything.
"I'll be clear—I didn't come to House Hampton in pursuit of romantic affections. I came to carve out a name for myself. And truly, what better way to secure one's future than by standing beside a Duke's heir on the rise?" Voice steady. Posture perfect. Not a hint of disrespect.
Carl nodded slowly. "I see."
"What do you mean by that?" Rosie snapped at Carl.
Carl ignored her. "Lady Iris… how long will this renovation take?"
"I'll let you know once it's finished," I said. Like my pulse hadn't just kicked
"And only I, Cael, and anyone Cael brings are allowed inside."
And right on cue, Cael bowed beside me.
{Would you quit that already.}
I nearly stepped on his foot.
"Just the two of you? No. I can not allow that." Rosie's exclaimed.
Cael lifted his head, grinning. "I thought I cleared any doubts of vulgar display. And I will be stationed in the halls for most of the work."
{What's he talking about?, isn't he supposed to make sure the plumber doesn't steal anything.}
Carl leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "Iris… why are you still in the same dress as last night?"
Rosie slapped his shoulder instantly. "That is not how you ask that!"
But Carl's brain was still spiraling.
«If she says 'we were working,' I swear i'll—»
"We were working," Cael said.
Rosie's face went scarlet.
"The entire night?"
Cael nodded. "Hmm mm. Quite a productive night too."
Their brains combusted.
And I, I really wanted to kill him.
But instead.
"Pls approve the restriction today. Right now, preferably," I said.
Carl stared at me, mind racing.
«What could be so private, and why not trust her family with it. I shouldn't approve it.»
{Shouldn't?} My heart shranked.
«But Iris has never asked for anything. I trust her. It's him I don't trust…»
After the suspenseful wait, he exhaled. "Fine."
My heart did a weird, embarrassing cartwheel.
My eyes gleamed—I felt them.
"I'm only agreeing to this because I trust you, not because you convinced me."
"Thank...you." I mouthed.
Rosie glared at Cael.
" And who's funding this... project?" She asked.
" Oh I am." I chirped, "personally... don't worry about it"
" Oh.. " she replied stunned. " How exactly?"
" Not your concern."
"I'll be taking my leave then. I have quite a lot to do." Carl said—adjusting his glasses—as he stood up.
"Let's go, Madam Rosie" Carl continued, gesturing at the door.
Rosie got up with reluctant grace, her gaze somewhere between suspicion and worry.
....
Immediately the door clicked shut behind them, the room fell silent.
I didn't move.
Cael didn't either.
Then—
"I must say," Cael murmured, "that went smoother than expected."
I turned so slowly it could've qualified as a threat.
He had the audacity to look relaxed. Hands behind his back. Shirt wrinkled from sleeping in my study.
"You—" I pointed at him, words jamming in my throat like traffic. "Why would you say it like that? 'Quite a productive night'?! Are you insane?"
His lips twitched. "It was productive."
I clasped a hand to my forehead. Harder than I intended. "Ahhh..."
He didn't even blink. "Is the misunderstanding a problem?"
"A problem?" My voice cracked. "Carl thinks I'm… that we're— Ugh—" My brain tied itself into a pretzel. "Are you actually dense or are you faking it, because I can't tell."
"Mm." He tilted his head slightly, studying me with that maddening calm. "Does it matter?, he approved your request."
"No thanks to you."
A soft hum. Teasing.
"It was my plan," he said, stepping for ward.
"It never would've worked if Carl didn't have a soft spot for me."
" How do you know that wasn't part of my plan. "
My brain stopped for a moment. I stared at him.
He stared right back.
A cold, eerie chill crawled down my spine—like a realization sliding into place. My breath hitched.
"Your plan," I said quietly.
His brows lifted a millimeter. "We discussed it last—"
I didn't let him finish. My fingers curled. Influence surged instinctively, humming through the room.
The air thickened. The space went tight around us.
I couldn't trust him. It hadn't even been a full day and I was letting him sleep in my study. Was he after something? Me? Something tied to the plot? Or was just a well-dressed psychopath?
I didn't think.
In an instant, the luxury sword Father had mounted on the wall snapped free with a sharp ring and leveled itself—clean, cold—at Cael's throat.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't gasp.
Didn't even look at the blade.
His eyes stayed locked on mine.
"My lady—" he started.
"You know," I cut in, voice low, "your whole story might've made more sense if you'd at least tried saying you were in love with me. But you didn't."
"Because I'm not," he said.
"You just find me… interesting."
The sword arched closer, almost touching.
He lifted his chin, the audacity of him, offering his throat. "Correct."
My laugh came out sharp. "Do you think I can't do it?"
"It's okay if you can't," he said gently. Too gently.
Then he proceeded to do the stupidest possible thing.
He stepped forward.
Right into the blade.
Metal kissed his skin. A thin red line appeared.
I flinched. My influence stuttered—just for half a heartbeat.
"I haven't lied to you," he murmured. "And I won't. Not now, not later. My intentions are exactly as I told you."
He moved closer.
And the closer he came, the more wrong the room felt—off. Like the oxygen was disappearing.
"I'm staying," he said. "No matter how many swords you put up."
He wasn't pretending to be brave. He genuinely wasn't scared.
"You're mad," I whispered, pulling the sword back into my hand.
He touched the thin cut at his neck and exhaled. "I'm starting to believe you."