Blair read the mission text carefully, her pulse quickening.
Deliver a refreshment to his study...?
Her hand was still wrapped tightly in synth-dressings, making complex cooking impossible, but simple prep work—brewing a soothing herbal tea or arranging a clean tray—was something she could handle with just one hand.
Determined not to let the penalty trigger, Blair stood up slowly. The dizzy spell from earlier didn’t hit nearly as hard, her brief rest in Lukas’s room had given her body just enough strength to stand. She smoothed down her dress, slipped out of Lukas’s suite, and made her way down the quiet, grand staircase toward the ground floor.
The mansion’s staff—whom she hadn’t even realized were active until a maid stood in front of her to report Maya’s appearance to Thomas that afternoon—were now moving silently through the corridors like quiet ghosts, tending to the estate’s evening routine.
Guiding herself toward the lower level, she made her way into the grand kitchen. Chef Henderson and a couple of line chefs were already hard at work preparing the evening meal, mostly synthetic stuff.
The moment the younger kitchen staff spotted her standing in the doorway, pale and wearing a simple dress, one of them paused.
"Is she a new maid?" one murmured under his breath, stepping forward to ask.
Chef Henderson immediately swooped in, his shoulders cutting between them as he glared at the young chef. "She is the new Mrs. Deruno," Henderson snapped, his voice sharp and protective. "Watch your mouth!"
The young chefs flinched violently, their faces draining of color as they bowed their heads at once. "We are deeply sorry, Mrs. Deruno! Please forgive our rudeness!"
"No, it’s completely fine," Blair said hastily, raising her uninjured hand in defense to reassure them. "Don’t worry about it."
Henderson’s eyes dropped to her right hand, wrapped tightly in white synth-dressings. He had already heard whispers of the chaotic clash in the parlor earlier that day, and he let out a heavy, solemn sigh. Those blessed hands that had created such comforting meals were now wounded.
"What can I do for you, Mrs. Deruno?" Henderson asked softly, his tone laced with genuine concern. "You aren’t possibly thinking of making dinner again with those hands, are you?"
"Um, no, I’m wounded, so I can’t," Blair replied with a faint, awkward smile. "But... I do want to make some refreshments. For Master Sebastian."
Henderson frowned, immediately trying to talk her out of it. "Mrs. Deruno, you ought to be resting. The kitchen staff can handle any late-night tea or light dishes Master Sebastian requires—"
"If you stop to do it for me, it will only delay the main dinner preparation," Blair reasoned gently, her tone persistent yet polite. "I can do just fine on my own. It’s something very simple."
Henderson looked at her determined face, swallowed his protest, and reluctantly stepped aside, instructing his team to give her whatever space she needed.
Last night, Brianna had brewed a fragrant, lavender-infused herbal tea and paired it with light, steamed grain cakes designed to sit comfortably at room temperature without losing their flavor—perfect for a man who often returned late from the boardroom. But he had dismissed her effort and thrown it away without a second thought as soon as she closed the door.
This time, she couldn’t just leave a tray on his desk to be thrown away. She needed to prepare something subtle, elegant, and warm—something that would allow her to somewhat persuade him to take a bite right on the spot.
Working carefully with only her left hand, Blair selected a delicate blend of night-blooming chamomile and white pear nectar, brewing a clear, golden tea that carried a faint, naturally soothing aroma. Alongside it, she crafted a small, bite-sized warm pear tartlet with thin crust—light enough not to feel heavy, but fragrant enough to tempt even the most stubborn appetite.
Setting the tray on her forearm, Blair carried it slowly out of the kitchen and down the quiet, dimly lit executive wing toward Sebastian’s private study.
As she neared the tall glass display cases of the gallery right outside his office, she spotted him.
Sebastian stood alone near the soft glow of the display lights. He had removed his suit jacket, wearing only his white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. He held a glass in one hand, his golden eyes scanning a floating holographic tablet before him, his face completely devoid of the polite, hollow smile he wore for the public.
He looked like pure, unreachable ice.
Hearing her soft, uneven footsteps, Sebastian didn’t even turn his head.
"You should be in bed, Mrs. Deruno," Sebastian said softly, his voice cutting through the silent hallway like a chilled blade. "Unless you enjoy collapsing in random corridors for attention?"
"No, I..." She paused, her grip on the edge of the tray tightening. Curiosity briefly overrode her nervousness as she asked, "How did you know it was me?"
Sebastian finally turned his head. His nose twitched lightly, taking in the scent floating down the dim hallway—not just the delicate, honeyed aroma of warm white pear and chamomile, but the distinct, soft scent of the fragile human who carried it.
He didn’t answer her question. Instead, his cold, golden eyes dragged slowly down her posture, fixing on the awkward, stiff way she was balancing the silver tray with her left arm to protect her bandaged right hand.
"Is that what you came all the way down here to find out?" he asked, his tone utterly flat.
Blair swallowed hard, the chill in his voice making her throat feel dry. She quickly remembered her mission. "Right... I... I made you some refreshments."
Sebastian looked at the pristine teacup and the golden, fragrant tartlet sitting on the tray.
"I see," he said smoothly. He took a single step closer, his tall, broad frame casting a long shadow over her frail figure. His golden eyes locked onto hers with a sharp, suffocating intensity. "But... are you so desperate to catch my attention that you come to me looking so pathetic, Mrs. Deruno?"