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Alistair's POV
The house seemed unusually quiet that night. Maybe it was because it was just Lious' mother and me. She was kind — the sort of woman who could make anyone feel at home — but also a handful when she wanted to be. Still, she made sure I was comfortable, even though I could tell she wasn't entirely used to having me around yet.
By 9:30, she was already in her nightgown, preparing for her "beauty sleep," as she called it. Before heading upstairs, she told one of the maids, "If Charles comes in after ten, make sure to let me know."
I smiled at her comment, though I wasn't sure why she seemed so concerned about Charles's curfew.
At exactly 10:04, the door opened. The sound echoed faintly in the quiet hallway.
Charles stepped in.
I had just asked the maid to make me a sandwich, but I forgot all about it the moment I saw him. There was something heavy about his presence — like the air shifted around him. His shoulders were tense, his expression unreadable, but the gloom surrounding him was almost tangible.
I thought about saying something — a simple welcome back maybe — but when I took a step forward, the words caught in my throat. There was a barrier between us. Not physical, but... something else. Something that warned me to keep my distance.
Even his pheromones felt suffocating — restrained, but barely.
So I stepped back. Quietly. Watching him disappear down the hall without a word.
Whatever happened at that party, I could tell it wasn't something small.
I told myself I'd speak to him later. After all, I was Louis's fiancée. And Charles was just his younger brother.
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I decided to just enjoy my sandwich. The maid placed it neatly before me, with a glass of milk on the side — supposedly to help me sleep. That's what they said milk did, right? It helped you sleep.
I took a slow sip, trying to convince myself it would work.
Then I heard footsteps. Soft at first, then firmer — heels against polished floor. Charles's mother.
She came down from her room, her expression sharp and focused. I guessed the maid must've told her that Charles had returned past his curfew. She went straight toward his room.
I could hear her knocking — not loudly, but enough to carry through the quiet hall.
"Charles?" she called. "Charles, open the door."
No response.
Another knock. This time, sharper.
Then his voice — muffled but clear enough to echo faintly through the hallway.
"I said I'm tired, Mother! Please, just… leave me alone."
The sound startled me. It wasn't anger exactly. It was exhaustion — the kind that seeps into the bones.
His mother stood there for a moment, motionless, before sighing and turning away. She passed me without a glance, heading back upstairs.
And I sat there, staring into my half-empty glass of milk, wondering what could possibly make someone's voice sound that broken.
I headed towards my room to sleep. All I knew was that I fell asleep sometime around 11 p.m. It was hard to sleep without Louis' presence — I guess I'd gotten used to it. We'd been serious for about a year now, and… well, now I was his fiancée.
The next morning, I woke up around seven. I took a warm bath, brushed my teeth, went through my face routine, and styled my hair a bit. I decided to wear my favorite pink slippers, a white T-shirt, and… Louis' black pants from his cupboard.
When I went downstairs, I was surprised to see his mother already awake. She looked completely put together — as if she'd been ready for hours. She wore a coppery gown, classic red lipstick, and her hair was tied neatly in a bun. A diamond necklace rested against her collarbone. Maybe I'm being too descriptive, but she really did look stunning.
Next to her was Louis' father. He didn't even spare me a glance at first — typical of him. But after a few minutes, he looked up and greeted me.
"Good morning, Alistair."
"Ah—good morning, sir."
"You don't need to call me 'sir,'" he said, almost smiling. "You can call me Mr. Theo. My name's Theodore."
He paused, as if thinking.
"Or you can call me 'Father,' like Louis and Charles do. And call my wife 'Mother.'"
He sounded friendly enough, but… there was something about him I couldn't figure out. A strange kind of calm that didn't feel comforting. I couldn't quite place it, but it lingered.
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Breakfast was quiet. Louis' mother tried to make me feel comfortable, though. She noticed I was wearing Louis' pants and smiled, saying did the same thing when she and Theodore had just gotten married. We laughed for a while until the silence returned.
Theodore wasn't much of a talker, but he was affectionate toward his wife — and that was a good thing to see.
A few minutes later, they both left for an important event. Before she went, Louis' mother placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and told me to look after Charles. "He can be temperamental," she said, "but he's really soft inside. Emotional, too. Always look out for him, Alistair." She smiled as she said it, then left with her husband.
I sat alone at the table for a while, finishing my breakfast, when I saw Charles coming down the stairs. He looked exhausted — dark circles under his eyes, his expression dull. It was clear he hadn't slept, and… maybe he'd been crying.
I wasn't sure what to say. There was this heavy aura around him that made the air feel tight. Still, he mumbled a barely audible "good morning."
"Good morning, Charles," I replied softly. "How are you doing this morning." I asked, he grunted in response while rubbing his eyes.
I asked the maid to bring him something to eat, but he refused, saying he wasn't hungry. I remembered he hadn't eaten last night either, so I had assumed he'd eaten at the party. But now, looking at him, I wasn't so sure.
I gestured for him to sit, and he did — quietly, his head slightly lowered.
"What's going on, Charles?" I asked. "You don't seem yourself. You're usually so cheerful.