Chapter 6

“Ah yes, Phil, tell me,” Julian said over the phone to his personal assistant. A towel swung along his neck, his hair damp from the shower he had just taken after a gym session at the built-in gym the manor had.

“They did what?” 

“I’m sorry, sir. I did the best I could to stop them, but after you left that day, the Pattersons felt insulted. They thought you left because they didn’t deserve your time or something like that.”

“Shit,” Julian cussed. “I told them the reason why I— You know what, forget about it. Send the most expensive bouquet of flowers from NYC Fragrance with an apology letter. We can’t afford to lose this deal,” Julian said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, sir, but NYC Fragrance is the most popular flower company in New York. I’m not sure they have any more in stock at the moment.”

“Do whatever it takes to make it happen, Phil. Money is not an issue. Make. It. Happen.”

“Y-yes, sir. I’ll get on it right away.”

Julian hung up after that and closed his eyes in frustration, remembering the reason he had to leave that important meeting so abruptly. As if on cue, his phone rang. Seeing the caller id he sighed heavily.

“Speak of the devil,” he muttered and picked up after the fourth ring.

“Don’t you know it’s rude not to pick up the phone after the second?” Eleanor Blackwood spat out, displeasure obvious in her voice.

“And a very good morning to you too, Mother,” Julian responded coldly, not even bothering to discuss further on such an insignificant topic.

“Anyways, the board of directors just reached out to me.”

Julian tensed subconsciously.

“They’re quite happy with you and your wedding.”

“Of course they are,” he said in a dry voice, his shoulders visibly loosening.

“I just wanted to remind you not to have any funny ideas about annulling the marriage, okay? You wouldn’t want to disappoint Fabian, would you?”

And there it was again, the manipulation. Fabian Blackwood was a sore spot for Julian, but his mother never seemed tired of bringing him up.

“I understand, Mother,” he said, his tone icy.

“Good, that’s good. I have to go now, toodles,” she said in a sickeningly sweet sing-song voice and hung up.

Julian gritted his teeth and walked to the walk-in closet to get his clothes. He’d thought about annulling the marriage, though. He didn’t want to be caught in another one of his mother’s schemes for the rest of his life. And then there was Leslie. Her green eyes were too bright and too distracting. He was used to seeing people with dead eyes, but hers were so full of life and innocence, it was infuriating. He didn’t want to have to spend time with someone who looked like she could see his soul just by looking at him. He shook off thoughts of her and resumed getting ready for the day.

---

“Come this way. The servants are going to be introducing themselves to you,” Julian said to Leslie, trying to look past the way her green chiffon top matched her eyes.

“Okay, sure. Let’s do it,” Leslie said, seeming tense.

The servants lined up and said in unison, “Hello, good morning, Mrs. Blackwood, and welcome to Blackwood Manor.”

“H-hi, good morning. It’s a p-pleasure to meet you all,” she stuttered nervously.

Julian just stood by the side and watched calmly at the scene. Kris came up to Leslie.

“Ma’am, you met me yesterday. I’m in charge of all the cleaning duties here in the west wing,” she said and stepped aside.

“My name is Coco, ma’am,” said a cute older lady. “I do the cooking around here.”

Several others came up and said their names and duties. She couldn’t even remember half of it all, and perspiration gathered on her forehead.

“Well, thank you all for introducing yourselves, and I hope to get to know you better,” she said, and they all nodded impassively and left to resume their duties.

“Is everyone here this cold?” she muttered and pursed her lips.

“You’ll get used to it,” Julian said nonchalantly.

Heat crept up her neck. “I didn’t mean—”

“Breakfast is ready. Right this way,” he said, not giving her a chance to finish.

Leslie was famished from not eating enough the previous night, so she downed the poached eggs and creamy blueberry muffins heartily. It was delicious. She’d never had anything this tasty. 

Typical rich people food, always so delicious, she thought.

She tried to start a conversation with Julian, who was seated like a block of ice and eating like a robot—a very handsome robot.

“Soo,” she started, “what about your mother?”

Julian’s gaze on her hardened as if she asked a terrible question. “She’s alive.”

“Um, okay? Isn’t she going to join us for breakfast?”

“I sure as hell am not her keeper, Miss Harrison, so please refrain from these unnecessary questions.”

Leslie’s frown was immediate. She sensed that the relationship between mother and son wasn’t smooth sailing at all.

“Okay, fine. Sheesh, it was my fault for trying to start up a conversation with a block of ice,” she muttered lowly.

Julian raised an eyebrow at her with a grim face, indicating that he knew what she had said, but she ignored him and continued with her meal. Breakfast ended, and the plates were cleared. The air was filled with awkward silence.

“Um, so I’ll go pay my respects to the cook. The food was amazing,” Leslie broke the silence and stood up, heading for the kitchen.

“Yes, and I’ll head out to work,” Julian responded in a somewhat awkward tone.

“Yeah, y-you do that,” she said and scurried off in the direction of the kitchen.

Julian grabbed his jacket and headed for the car but stopped in his tracks when he saw Leslie asking a maid some questions about something, her green chiffon top shining due to the sun's reflection with her ordinary-looking white slacks. She was trying desperately to start up a friendly conversation, but the maid remained distant and polite while answering her questions and bowing repeatedly. Julian's gaze softened momentarily, and he looked almost sorry for her. It must be hard trying to adjust to a new life like this one, but he snapped out of it and walked away to his car where the driver was waiting.

Still in awe at the size of the mansion leslie started a tour of the west side herself since she could barely remember whatever Julian was going on about the other day. She roamed around in circles for almost two hours, noting significant places in the mansion and retracing her steps so she could remember all these places when a door came into her line of sight. It wasn’t like the other doors in the mansion. This one was older, more antique, and had all sorts of old historical arts and aesthetics around it. It also looked unused because a sheet of dust covered it and a big antique padlock secured the door shut. Out of curiosity, she tried to jiggle the lock. It didn’t budge, obviously.

“Huh, what kind of door is this, and why is it locked?”