The Lawson's Mansion.

When I opened my eyes, the world around me was silent. Not the kind of silence that calms you — the kind that listens, watches, waits.

The first thing I saw was the ceiling: high, carved, and painted white like winter skies. My head ached. My lips were dry. And the air… it smelled faintly of cedarwood and something expensive I couldn’t name.

I sat up slowly, realizing I wasn’t in my small shared room at the hotel. The bed beneath me was enormous, its sheets soft and crisp as if no one ever slept on them. Sunlight poured through tall drapes, cutting gold lines across the polished floor.

Then memory struck me like lightning.

The hotel.

The laughter.

My father. Mr. Baldwin.

The drinks… the burning inside me.

The way my body felt foreign, my heart pounding like it was trying to break free.

And then — darkness.

My hand trembled as I touched my wrist. Someone had cleaned me up. Someone had brought me here.

On the bedside table sat a crystal bowl filled with warm water, a towel folded neatly beside it, and a small tray of pills and what looked like an antidote bottle. My breath caught. Whoever had done this — had taken care of me. But who?

The door creaked open before I could move.

And there he was.

The man who would change everything.

He was tall — at least six foot three — dressed in a black shirt that fit like it was stitched to his body. His hair was the color of ink, neat but slightly tousled as if he’d just run his hands through it. His face… sculpted. Cold. Sharp. Beautiful in a way that almost hurt to look at.

His eyes found me before he spoke. They were dark — not black, not brown — something in between, something stormy. His expression didn’t waver, didn’t soften.

“You’re awake,” he said, his tone deep and steady. “You should know your alcohol limit next time. You might not find a savior twice.”

His voice. It was calm — too calm. Like he’d seen a thousand storms and decided none could touch him anymore.

“I—” My throat burned. I swallowed. “Did you… bring me here?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he moved toward the window and pulled the curtains open wider. Light flooded the room, and for a second, I had to shield my eyes.

“You’ll find your things in the corner,” he said. “Freshen up. Breakfast is downstairs.”

Then, before I could ask his name, another voice spoke from behind him.

“Mr. Frederick,” said a man in a crisp grey suit, carrying a folder. His hair was slicked back, glasses perched perfectly on his nose. “I’ve looked into the information you asked for.”

Frederick.

The name hit me before I even realized I’d said it out loud. “Frederick… Lawson?”

The assistant paused. Both men turned to look at me.

I could feel my heartbeat echo in my ears.

The billionaire heir. The man the tabloids called The Silent King. The one rumored to have everything — except a heart.

And I was in his mansion.

“Freshen up,” he said again, his tone unreadable. “You can leave after breakfast.”

I blinked. “Leave?”

He turned, meeting my eyes fully for the first time. There was no kindness there, but no cruelty either — only a kind of distance that made me shiver.

“I don’t keep strays,” he said simply, and walked out.

For a long moment, I sat frozen, my heart twisting. Stray. That word cut deeper than I wanted it to.

But I had nowhere to go. No money. Grandma was in the hospital, and if I left now, I’d have nothing.

By the time I stood, tears had already begun to burn behind my eyes. I cleaned my face with the towel and put on the simple white dress laid out on the chair. It fit perfectly — too perfectly, as if someone had measured me in my sleep.

I walked downstairs into a dining room that could fit my grandmother’s entire house twice. The table gleamed beneath the chandelier’s glow, and breakfast looked like something from a royal banquet — eggs, croissants, fruits, all perfectly arranged.

Frederick sat at the head of the table, scrolling through something on a sleek black tablet. His assistant, the man called Henry, stood a few feet away.

I hesitated at the door.

“Sit,” Frederick said without looking up.

I obeyed quietly, my heart still unsteady. The air felt colder near him — not because of the temperature, but because of how tightly he carried himself. Every move was controlled, efficient, precise.

I forced myself to speak. “Thank you… for helping me.”

“Don’t mistake decency for interest,” he replied without looking at me. “You were a problem I happened to stumble upon. I don’t like problems lingering.”

“I wasn’t asking for pity,” I whispered.

“Good,” he said, finally lifting his gaze. “Because I don’t offer it.”

I met his eyes then — and though they were cold, I saw something buried deep within them. A flicker of something… human. Something broken.

When I finished eating, I stood to leave, clutching the hem of the borrowed dress. “Please, sir,” I said, voice trembling. “I have nowhere to go. My grandmother’s ill. I’ll work for you. I’ll clean, cook, anything you ask. Please…”

For the first time, his expression shifted — just barely.

“Henry,” he said, without glancing at me. “Twenty minutes. Make sure she’s gone.”

Then he rose and left the room.

The door closed behind him, and for a moment, the silence felt heavier than ever.

My legs gave out. I sank to the floor and covered my face with my hands. For the hundredth time in my life, I cried quietly — the kind of cry that came from somewhere deep, somewhere past words.

But as the tears soaked through my fingers, I swore to myself — this time, I wouldn’t give up. Not again.

Not until I could stand tall in front of every person who had tried to break me.

I sat there for what felt like forever, the marble floor cold beneath my knees, the chandelier’s glow blurring through the tears in my eyes.

Henry — the assistant — cleared his throat. I didn’t look up. I didn’t have the strength.

“Miss Nova,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “You should get up. Mr. Lawson doesn’t like anyone making a scene.”

“I wasn’t making a scene,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I was begging.”

Henry said nothing at first. Then his footsteps approached, his shoes clicking lightly against the floor. When he stopped beside me, his tone softened, almost reluctant.

“You’re persistent,” he said. “Not many people talk to him like that.”

I looked up at him, my eyes swollen. “Is he always like that? So cold?”

Henry hesitated. “He’s… not heartless,” he said carefully. “Just broken in ways you can’t see. Don’t take it personally.”

I wiped my cheeks with trembling fingers. “Broken?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he offered me a small folded handkerchief. It smelled faintly of mint and something faintly citrus.

“Clean yourself up,” he said. “And… wait here.”

Before I could reply, he turned and walked toward the corridor where Frederick had gone.

I sat up straighter, trying to catch my breath. My reflection in the silver tray beside the fruit bowl startled me — red eyes, pale face, a girl who looked like she’d been through war. Maybe I had.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. The silence pressed in again. I began to wonder if Henry had left me behind like everyone else.

Then the door opened.

Henry returned, carrying a small envelope and a card. “Mr. Lawson doesn’t take requests,” he said, his tone neutral again. “But he said you may stay here for one night only — in the guest wing. Tomorrow morning, I’ll drive you back to wherever you came from.”

My heart dropped a little. I’d hoped for a miracle, not a delay.

Still, a night was better than nothing.

I nodded silently. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Henry said. “You’ll have to earn it.”

He turned to lead the way, and I followed — down the long hallway where every step echoed faintly. The mansion was vast, more like a museum than a home. Glass walls revealed gardens lit by moonlight, and tall paintings of men who looked as if they hadn’t smiled in centuries hung on the walls.

“This place,” I murmured, “it’s beautiful… but lonely.”

Henry glanced back briefly. “You noticed quickly.”

He stopped in front of a room near the far end of the west wing and opened the door. Inside was a smaller, softer version of the master suite — still elegant, but warmer somehow. A vase of lilies stood on the nightstand.

“You can rest here,” he said. “Dinner will be brought up at seven.”

As he turned to leave, I spoke before I could stop myself. “Henry… Do you think he’ll ever forgive whoever hurt him?”

Henry paused at the door. His jaw tightened slightly. “Some wounds don’t heal,” he said. “They just teach you how to hide the scar.”

Then he was gone.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. The sheets were soft, the air faintly scented with lavender, yet my mind refused to quiet down. I thought of Grandma — probably still in the hospital, alone. I thought of my father, my stepmother, Mandy, and Daniel — all of them living their lives while I clung to the edges of mine.

When I finally closed my eyes, the sound of footsteps startled me. I sat up quickly, heart racing.

The door creaked slightly.

Frederick stood there, half in shadow, wearing the same black shirt but with the top buttons undone now. He didn’t look surprised to see me awake.

“I was told you refused dinner,” he said quietly.

“I wasn’t hungry,” I replied. “I… didn’t want to be a burden.”

He stepped closer. “Burden,” he repeated. “You use that word like it’s your name.”

I swallowed hard. “Isn’t it?”

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes — recognition, maybe.

He moved closer to the window, his back to me now. The moonlight brushed against his jawline, and for the first time, he looked almost human — not the untouchable billionaire from the papers, but a man who’d forgotten how to feel safe.

“Henry told you too much,” he said after a while.

“I only asked if you were always cold,” I said softly.

He let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Then he didn’t tell you the truth. I wasn’t always.”

Silence stretched between us.

“Then what changed?” I asked carefully.

He turned slightly, just enough for me to see his eyes — darker now, full of something that looked like pain and memory.

“I trusted someone once,” he said finally. “And she taught me the cost of believing in people.”

I held my breath. His voice had softened — just a fraction, but enough to feel the weight behind it.

“What did she do?”

He met my gaze fully this time. “She left me when I needed her most,” he said. “She took everything I had and gave it to someone else.”

The ache in his tone mirrored something inside me.

I wanted to speak, to tell him I understood — that I knew what betrayal felt like. But before I could, he straightened, coldness returning like armor slipping back into place.

“Sleep,” he said, turning toward the door. “You leave in the morning.”

When he was gone, I exhaled shakily, feeling the echo of his words linger in the air.

He wasn’t heartless.

He was wounded.

Just like me.

And though I didn’t know it then — that moment, that tiny crack in his walls — was the beginning of everything.

The morning light crept through the curtains like a whisper, soft and golden. For a moment, I forgot where I was. The sheets, the scent of lavender, the silence — all of it felt like a dream.

Then reality returned, as heavy and unyielding as ever.

I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes. My throat felt dry, and my chest ached with the memory of last night — Frederick’s voice, low and distant, admitting he’d once trusted someone. That sliver of vulnerability had stayed with me, echoing through my sleep like a song I couldn’t forget.

A knock on the door startled me.

“Miss Nova?” Henry’s calm voice came from the other side.

I swung my legs out of bed. “Come in.”

The door opened and Henry entered, carrying a silver tray — coffee, toast, and fresh fruit. His expression was as composed as ever, but his eyes lingered on me a little longer this time.

“Good morning,” he said. “Mr. Lawson instructed me to drive you home after breakfast.”

Home. The word stung. I had no real home anymore — not since Grandma’s hospital room had become the only place that still felt safe.

“Thank you,” I murmured, sitting at the small table by the window. “Has he… left already?”

Henry hesitated. “He’s in his study,” he said. “He has a meeting in an hour.”

I nodded. Somehow, that answer hurt more than I expected.

Henry poured the coffee, the steam rising in delicate curls. “You’re lucky, you know,” he said quietly.

I looked up. “Lucky?”

“He rarely lets anyone stay the night,” he replied. “Even fewer ever hear him speak the way he did to you.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

Henry didn’t elaborate. He just gave a small, knowing smile and placed a folded envelope on the tray. “He asked me to give you this.”

My pulse quickened. I reached for it, the paper thick and cold under my fingers.

It wasn’t a letter — just a single sheet with his handwriting, neat and precise.

“ Henry will take you where you need to go. The world isn’t kind, Miss Nova. Don’t mistake pity for kindness. — F.L.”

I stared at the note, a lump forming in my throat.

He wanted to help, but only from a distance — like someone afraid to touch warmth again.

Henry must have seen the flicker in my expression, because he said softly, “Don’t take it personally. He builds walls because he thinks that’s the only way to survive.”

I folded the note carefully, tucking it into my pocket. “Maybe walls keep others out… but they also keep you trapped inside.”

Henry’s gaze softened. “You might be the first person to ever tell him that.”

By the time we reached the driveway, the morning air was sharp with the scent of rain. The mansion behind me stood tall and silent, its stone walls glinting faintly beneath the overcast sky.

I looked back once more, half-expecting to see him at one of the windows — but there was only emptiness.

Henry opened the car door for me. “Seatbelt, please.”

We drove in silence for a long time. The roads wound through forests and quiet suburban streets, the world outside still waking up.

I leaned against the window, clutching my bag. My mind was a storm — gratitude, sadness, confusion, and something else I didn’t want to name.

Then my phone buzzed.

I glanced down — an unknown number.

I hesitated before answering. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end trembled. “Is this Miss Nova?”

My heart froze. “Yes. Who’s this?”

“This is Meredith’s Hospital,” the woman said. “Your grandmother… She went into cardiac arrest early this morning. We’ve managed to stabilize her, but we need someone to come in immediately.”

The world blurred. My hands shook. “I— I’ll be there. Please, don’t let her—”

“She’s holding on,” the nurse interrupted gently. “But you need to come now.”

The call ended, leaving me in stunned silence.

Henry must have noticed my face pale because he slowed the car. “Miss Nova? What happened?”

I swallowed hard. “My grandmother. She’s— she’s in the hospital. Please, can we go faster?”

Without a word, he nodded and pressed down on the accelerator.

By the time we reached the hospital, the sky had darkened again, as if the sun itself couldn’t bear to watch. I rushed through the glass doors, my heart hammering.

At the front desk, the nurse recognized my name immediately and pointed down the corridor. “Room 204. Hurry.”

I ran.

When I entered the room, Grandma lay there, pale and fragile, her chest rising weakly beneath the sheets. The monitor beeped steadily, but the sight of her hooked up to wires shattered me.

“Grandma…” I whispered, gripping her hand. It was cold — too cold.

Her eyelids fluttered slightly, her lips moving with effort. “Nova…”

“I’m here,” I said, tears spilling down my face. “Please don’t leave me, Grandma. You’re all I have.”

She smiled faintly. “You’re stronger than you think, my child… you’ll find your path.”

Grandma, please get well for me, I said.

Just then, her fingers twitched against mine and the monitor beeped in a strange way!

“No— no, please!” I screamed as nurses rushed in, pushing me back. “Do something! She’s— she’s not—”

But the moment I saw the doctor shake his head, I knew something terrible had happened. I was taken out of the room while they attended to grandma.

I waited in the hospital ward restless.

“ Vera”?

A doctor called after what seems like years.

“Yes!, I ran towards her..

“ I am Vera “, I said with teary eyes,

Your grandmother is currently in a coma, please check with the accountant and make payments for the hospital bills. I was happy Grandma was not dead but the bills are something I really don't know where to begin from.

I sank to the floor, sobbing, my hands trembling uncontrollably. Everything — every ounce of strength I’d built — shattered.

Henry stood in the doorway, his face shadowed. He didn’t speak, didn’t move. He just looked at me with a quiet and helpless gaze.

Hours passed before I could stand again. The hospital felt colder now, emptier. When I finally walked out, the rain had begun to fall in sheets.

Henry followed me to the car but didn’t say a word.

It wasn’t until we were halfway down the road that he spoke quietly, almost to himself. “He’ll want to know.”

“Who?” I asked, staring blankly at the window.

“Mr. Lawson,” Henry said. “He doesn’t like attachments, but… he’ll care.”

I shook my head. “No. He won’t. Men like him don’t care about people like me.”

Henry’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Then you don’t know him yet.”

Meanwhile, back at the mansion, Frederick stood in his study, staring out at the rain. Henry’s car hadn’t even reached the city before he felt it — that uneasy twist in his chest that he couldn’t name.

His phone buzzed once. Henry’s message appeared on the screen:

“Her grandmother is in a coma. She’s alone.”

For a long moment, Frederick didn’t move. Then, without a word, he picked up his coat.

The rain fell harder as he walked toward the door — and for the first time in years, Frederick Lawson didn’t care if he got wet.

He was going to her.

Immediately I saw Fredrick in the rain, I fell to her knees and begged him to allow me to work for him so I could save for my grandmother's hospital bills.