For a heartbeat, silence held the room. Then the son's face shifted. It was shock at first, pure and raw. But it was fleeting. In its wake came something darker. His mouth pulled taut, his eyes flickering with dismay before he rearranged himself into a mask of brittle relief. He smiled, but it never touched his eyes.
"Father," he exclaimed, "glad to see your health has improved."
Such terrible acting, Ryan thought with a flick of amusement.
Then the daughter spoke, her tone cutting. "Who the hell are you?"
Thelma stepped forward sharply, fire in her voice. "Mind your tone. This man is the one who healed Grandfather."
The woman did not so much as glance at Thelma. Her eyes stayed pinned on Ryan, taking in his dishevelled appearance. Suspicion dripping from every syllable. "I asked a question. Who are you?"
Greaves's voice snapped through the air, hoarse but commanding. "Enough, Stephanie!" His gaze bore into his daughter, and in it was a command that silenced her instantly. "Do you know who you are addressing?"
Stephanie faltered, her lips parting but no words coming. Her eyes flickered toward the floor, resentment burning but unspoken.
Ryan studied them with quiet precision. The children Greaves spoke about. The heirs who should have been at the centre of his legacy. Yet here they stood, their gazes unsettled not only by his presence but by the vitality returned to their father. Especially the son. Ryan had seen that expression before, in boardrooms, on the battlefield, in anyone who realised too late that fortune had not bent their way.
Ryan saw jealousy, resentment, and fear.
Ryan felt it as surely as he felt the damp weight of his coat still clinging from the rain. These were not the eyes of dutiful children grateful for their father's recovery. These were wolves circling a prize that had slipped just out of reach.
Greaves's voice, steady again, broke the silence. "How dare you interrupt us! Leave, now!"
"What?" the son barked, astonished.
"Out." The word cut like a blade. "I will not repeat myself. Go."
The man and woman exchanged incredulous glances, scandal written across their faces. To be dismissed so sharply, in front of a stranger no less, what humiliation was this?
Stephanie's mouth opened again, but one look from Greaves was enough to seal it. The old man's authority had not dimmed, and though they burned with indignation, both of them turned stiffly and swept from the room.
Ryan did not miss the way their shoulders tightened as they passed, nor the glances they cast his way. Hostile, weighing, as though he were an intruder who had stolen something precious from them.
And perhaps, in their eyes, he had.
The door closed behind them, leaving only Ryan and Thelma with Greaves.
Thelma drew in a slow breath. The fire from moments ago had dimmed, replaced now by weariness. The scuffle had clearly unsettled her. She folded her hands together, then looked at Ryan. "I'm so sorry for how they behaved. They shouldn't have spoken to you that way. Please, forgive them."
Ryan shook his head. "You don't owe me an apology." His voice was calm, and even.
Still, Thelma's gaze lingered on him, guilt flickering there as though she bore responsibility for her family's disgrace.
"I should go," Ryan said at last.
She blinked, as though the words surprised her, then inclined her head. "I'll walk you out."
Ryan left Greaves to rest, his eyes reassuring his promise to the old man.
Together, Thelma and Ryan moved through the echoing halls of the estate. The silence between them was not uncomfortable, but weighted, both lost in thought. Yet Ryan's senses remained sharp, and he did not miss the hostile stares that followed them. Greaves's children lingered in the shadows of the corridor, their eyes narrowed, their pride stung raw.
Ryan's stride did not falter. He had walked under worse gazes.
At the great doors, Thelma paused, her hand lightly resting against the frame. She turned to him, her voice softer now. "Thank you, again. For saving my grandfather. I don't know what I would have done if you didn't."
Ryan looked at her, really looked. She was strong, sharper than her kin, but still she was vulnerable in ways she perhaps did not even realise. He felt the pressure of Greaves's plea pressing into his chest.
"You should be careful," Ryan said. His voice held no room for jest. "Don't stay out late. Don't go anywhere alone if you can help it. Be alert. And if anything happens..." His eyes locked with hers, steady as iron. "Call me. Immediately."
For a second, her lips parted in surprise. Then a smile tugged at them, small and almost amused. "That sounds terribly dramatic."
But his expression did not shift. Thelma's smile faltered, the gravity of his words settling over her. She exhaled softly. "All right. I will."
She offered, hesitantly, "At least let me send our driver to take you back. It's the least I can do."
Ryan shook his head. "No need."
And with that, he stepped into the night. The rain had eased, leaving the air cool and sharp, streetlamps glowing faintly in the distance. Thelma watched him go, her pulse quickening in her chest, caught between awe at the man who had just saved her grandfather and fear of what his warning might mean.