THE DINING ROOM SAGA

​The door to my "suite" clicked shut, muffling the sounds of my mother’s frantic apologies to William downstairs.

​I leaned my back against the heavy oak wood and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. My heart was still hammering against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that had nothing to do with the climb up the stairs and everything to do with the way Xavier Knight had looked at me.

​Gold-digger family.

​The words stung because, deep down, a part of me feared he was right about my mother. But the way he had said it—like I was something he’d found stuck to the bottom of his boot—made my blood boil.

​I looked around the room. It was huge. Larger than our entire living room back home. The bed was draped in silk, the furniture was antique white, and a massive bay window offered a view of the sprawling gardens. It was a room designed for a princess.

​"Too bad I’m not wearing a crown," I muttered, dropping my duffel bag on the pristine carpet.

​I spent the next hour unpacking, forcing myself to move. I hung up my thrifted flannels next to the empty, cedar-scented closet space, feeling like an interloper. I needed air. I needed to be somewhere that didn't smell like William’s expensive cologne or my mother’s desperate social climbing.

​I slipped out of my room. The house was unnervingly quiet. No hum of a television, no sound of a neighbor’s lawnmower... just the heavy, suffocating silence of old money.

​I found myself in a glass-walled sunroom that led out to a private terrace. I stepped outside, the heat of the afternoon hitting my face. I walked toward the stone railing, looking out over the pool.

​And then I saw him.

​Xavier was at the far end of the terrace, shirtless in the sun. He was hunched over a weight bench, his back to me. The muscles of his shoulders shifted and bunched under tanned skin, a map of power and tension. He hadn't heard me come out.

​I should have turned around. I should have gone back to my silk-lined cage. But my feet felt rooted to the stone.

​He groaned as he pushed through a final rep, the sound low and guttural. When he sat up, he wiped sweat from his forehead with a discarded towel and reached for a bottle of water. As he tilted his head back to drink, his throat moving in steady swallows, he finally sensed me.

​He didn't jump. He didn't even look surprised. He just slowly lowered the bottle and turned his head, those dark, predatory eyes locking onto mine.

​"Following me already, Princess?" he asked. The smirk was back—the one that made me want to slap him and scream at the same time. "I thought you were busy counting my father's silver."

​"I was looking for the exit," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. "This place is a maze. And I’m not a princess."

​Xavier stood up, and for the first time, I realized just how much he towered over me. Without the leather jacket, he looked even more formidable. A thin scar ran along his lower ribs, a reminder that he wasn't just a rich kid—he was someone who knew how to bleed.

​He started walking toward me, his boots clicking softly on the terrace stone. He didn't stop until he was deep in my personal space, the scent of sweat and expensive soap radiating off him.

​"You're in the wrong wing," he whispered, leaning down so his lips were inches from my ear. "The help stays in the East Wing. This... this is my territory."

​I refused to flinch. I looked him dead in the eye, my voice trembling only slightly. "Then maybe you should put a 'Keep Out' sign on the door. Or a muzzle on your mouth."

​Xavier’s eyes darkened. He reached out, a single finger tracing the line of my jaw, his touch searing like a brand. "You've got claws. I like that. But remember where you are, Summer. In this house, I’m the one who makes the rules. And rule number one? Don't get in my way."

​He pulled back, his dark grin widening as he watched the flush creep up my neck.

​"See you at dinner, sister."

•••

The dining room was a cathedral of mahogany and cold formality. A long table stretched between us, set with enough silverware to arm a small militia.

​"The chef prepared a roasted duck," William said, offering a tight smile that tried to bridge the awkward gap. "I hope that suits your palate, Summer?"

​"It’s fine. Thank you," I replied, my voice sounding small in the room. My mother reached over, patting my hand with a frantic, 'please-don't-mess-this-up' look in her eyes.

​"So, Summer," William continued, swirling a deep red wine in his glass. "Celine tells me you’ve already been accepted into university. Which one did you settle on?"

​"Evermore University," I said. "I’m starting the architecture program."

​William’s eyebrows shot up, a genuine look of surprise crossing his face. "Evermore? That’s a coincidence. Xavier is in his third year there, finishing his degree in Business and Finance."

​My stomach dropped. The mansion was already too small for the both of us; the last thing I needed was to share a campus with him.

​"Oh, that’s wonderful!" Celine beamed, her voice a pitch too high. "Xavier can show you around. He can watch over her, make sure she finds her classes and meets the right people."

​I nearly choked on my water. The idea of Xavier Knight "watching over me" felt less like protection and more like being stalked by a wolf.

​The heavy double doors swung open, and Xavier finally appeared. He hadn't bothered to dress for dinner, he was still in a dark t-shirt, his hair damp from a shower. He didn't offer an apology for being late. He simply pulled out the chair directly across from me, his knees nearly brushing mine under the table.

​He didn't say a word. He just stared at me, his dark eyes tracking the way my hands shook as I picked up my fork.

​"Xavier, we were just discussing Summer’s schooling," William said, his voice taking on a stern, paternal authority. "She’ll be starting at Evermore on Monday. I expect you to look out for her."

​Xavier’s only response was a sharp, dry laugh that didn't reach his eyes. He picked up his knife, the silver glinting under the chandelier.

​"But before we get ahead of ourselves," William said, clearing his throat and looking at my mother with a soft, sickening gaze. "I have an announcement. We’ve decided not to wait. The wedding will be held here, on the grounds, in three weeks."

​The silence that followed was brittle.

​Xavier’s knife hit the china with a screeching clatter. He stood up so abruptly his chair screeched against the marble floor.

​"Three weeks?" Xavier’s voice was a low growl, vibrating with a raw, dangerous anger. "Mom is barely cold in her grave, and you’re replacing her so fast? You’re actually bringing this woman into her home permanently?"

​"Xavier, sit down," William warned, his face darkening.

​"No!" Xavier spat, pointing a trembling finger at my mother. "Can’t you see she’s a gold-digger? She’s here for the bank account and the zip code. She doesn't give a damn about you!"

​The insult pierced through my shock, igniting a fire in my chest I couldn't suppress. I stood up, slamming my hands on the table. "Don’t you dare call my mother that!"

​Xavier turned his predatory gaze on me, his lip curling in utter disdain. The heat between us was no longer just tension—it was war.

​"Fuck you all!" he barked, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. He looked at my mother and then back to me, his eyes cold enough to freeze my blood. "You both don't belong here. This isn't your home, and it never will be."

​He turned and stormed out of the room, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him with a force that made the crystal glasses rattle.