Chapter 7 ( The arrangements )

The morning sun seeped in through the curtains, casting a warm glow across Shayla's face as she slept soundly. She hummed softly and snuggled closer to Tega, who was curled up beside her.

Suddenly, a hard bang on the door jolted her awake. She sat up, blinking against the light, her mind still thick with sleep. She wondered who was banging so hard on her door this morning. Her drowsy eyes threatened to close again, but another bang followed, harder this time. Tega lifted his head, ears twitching, but didn't bother getting up.

Shayla dragged herself out of bed and went to the door, pulling it open. Her gaze met Morgan's. Before she could even get a word out, Morgan pushed past her and walked straight into the room, eyes sweeping over everything until they landed on the vanity table with loose sheets of paper scattered across it.

Shayla simply stared at her as she crossed the room and picked one up, then another, flipping through them, her eyes glistening with joy.

"Now this," Morgan said, tapping one of the pages, eyes lit up the way they only did when money was involved. "This is what I'm talking about."

She gathered the papers together, already glowing.

"Finally. Something worth putting my name on."

Shayla remained mute, her face blank. She wanted nothing but for Morgan to leave her room so she could face the activities of the day.

Morgan wasn't even looking at her anymore, too busy imagining the sketches on the racks, already hearing the praise she'd take credit for. To her, they looked brilliant, fresh the kind of thing that would sell out in days.

Shayla watched her hold them like they were something precious, but she knew better than that. If she knew what had been deliberately left out, she wouldn't be smiling. They were not her best work. Not even close. Just enough to look good. Just enough to shut Morgan up. Nothing like the sketch still hidden, the one she kept for herself the one that had come out of her without her even meaning it to, the one that actually meant something.

Morgan had no idea. She never did. Someone who had no idea about sketches would, of course, think the ones on the rack looked too good. There was an ache behind Shayla's ribs, something close to grief, thinking about all the years she had handed over everything and never once thought to keep a piece for herself. But under the ache, there was something else too. New. Something that felt, for once, like she had won a little.

Morgan gathered the sketches together and walked out without another word, already too pleased with herself to bother saying thank you.

Shayla stood there for a moment after the door clicked shut, the ache and that small win sitting together in her chest, tangled in a way she didn't fully understand yet. Morgan had taken exactly what she needed to stop asking questions, and nothing more.

She walked across the room toward her vanity table, opened the drawer, and pulled it open. Inside was a stack of sketches. She grabbed it and stared at it. Her hands flipped through the pages of the stack. Everything looked perfect. This was nothing compared to what she gave Morgan. She dropped the stack back inside the drawer and closed it. She turned her head, her eyes meeting Tega's, who was on the bed but wide awake now. She walked toward the bed, sat on it, and pulled Tega close to her. Tega whined, snuggling closer. She gave the puppy playful pats before heading to the bathroom.

"Hey, you punk!" Cassie spat, walking toward the gardener. "What are you doing there, lazing around?" she asked, a hand on her waist, eyeing the gardener.

The old man slowly turned to her, his gaze lowered to the floor, his trembling hands still holding the watering can. He couldn't dare look at her.

"I've been watering the plants since morning, so I decided to take a rest," the man replied, his voice trembling.

Cassie shot him a disdainful look. "Aren't you being paid to work here? So why must you take a rest since it's not resting hours yet?" she demanded.

"I'm sorry, Miss." The old man's voice came out shaky.

"Cassie dear, what's going on there?" Mrs. Hart's voice sounded behind them. Mrs. Hart slowly approached them.

Cassie turned back and saw Mrs. Hart approaching. A smile curved her lips.

"Oh, Mother! It's nothing serious. I was just asking him about the flowers," Cassie said with a chuckle. "Right?" She turned to the old man, her eyes changing from innocent to something darker.

"Yes, Madam," the old man said, a hint of fear in his voice.

"You can go back to work," Mrs. Hart said. She turned to Cassie. "Breakfast is served. I guess you might be hungry," she said softly.

"Of course, Mother. Let's go inside," Cassie replied, holding her arm as they both made their way to the dining table.

On the table lay various kinds of delicious food. The smell of tea filled the air. Cassie pulled out a chair and lowered herself into it. She scooped some rice onto her plate and took a bite. Mrs. Hart and Cassie began discussing while they ate, table manners far from them.

Warren sat behind the desk, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, eyes on the numbers moving across his laptop. The office was quiet except for the click of his keyboard and the low hum of the city through the glass behind him.

Then a knock came at the door. He didn't look up, his gaze still fixed on the screen.

"Come in."

The door was pushed open and a man stepped in, standing the way he always did — posture straight, hands behind his back.

"Sir, about the man from the other night."

Warren's fingers stopped moving. "Go on."

"He's been dealt with and won't be bothering anyone again," the bodyguard said.

Warren didn't say anything for a second, eyes fixed somewhere past the screen. "Good," he simply stated.

"Anything else, sir?" the bodyguard asked.

"No. That's all."

The bodyguard gave a short nod and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Warren sat there a while longer, jaw tight, something unreadable behind his eyes before he finally shut the laptop. He raised his wrist to his face and glanced at the time. It was past one. He stood up, grabbed his keys, and left the office. He walked down to where his car was parked, got in, and drove off.

The drive to the Hart estate always felt like leaving one world for another. The glass and steel thinned out. The roads got quieter. Older trees lined the sides. The estate itself sat behind tall iron gates that had been there long before he was born. An old stone house, ivy crawling up one side, a fountain gone a little green with age sitting in the middle of the courtyard. Stepping through those gates always felt like stepping backward in time.

The gateman opened the gates for him, allowing his car to slide in smoothly. He parked, got out, and by the time he reached the steps, a maid was standing outside to let him in.

"Good afternoon, Young Master," she smiled cheerfully, checking Warren out. It had been a long time since she saw him, and looking at him again gave her butterflies, making her smile sheepishly.

Warren shot her a glare, his lips pressed into a thin line. The maid realized herself and composed.

"She's in her bedroom, sir," she muttered.

Warren walked past her inside. He climbed the stairs to his grandmother's bedroom. He knocked on the door before opening and walking inside.

His grandmother sat in her usual chair by the window, a shawl over her shoulders even though it wasn't cold, an untouched cup of tea beside her. Her eyes, still sharp despite everything, found him the second he walked in.

"Warren, son!" Grandma said, her face beaming with smiles. She made to stand up, but Warren immediately rushed over, guiding her back to her seat.

"Grandma," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and sat down across from her.

"I was starting to think you forgot where I lived," Grandma said, a frown plastered on her face. "You send drivers to check on me but can't be bothered to come yourself. You think I don't notice?"

"I've been busy, Grandma," Warren replied.

"You are always busy." She studied him for a long moment, the kind of look that made most people around him squirm.

"Anita! Anita!" Grandma called out, and in no time a maid rushed inside. She gave a slight nod to Warren.

"Get tea and biscuits," she said, then turned her head to Warren. "You look lean. I'm sure you're very famished. But don't worry, while you are at Grandma's place, you will eat to your fill."

Grandma said it enthusiastically. Warren let out a small smile.

"So how's work?" she asked softly, reaching for her tea and taking a long sip.

"Work has been good but stressful," he replied.

The door creaked open and Anita walked in, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. She placed the tray with a soft clink on the table beside Warren. She bowed her head again and left the room.

Grandma took another sip of her tea, her eyes studying Warren over the rim of the cup.

"And your love life?" she asked, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"My what?" Warren asked, his brows pulling together.

"Your love life," she repeated, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. "Don't tell me you've forgotten what that means."

A faint sigh escaped him. "Grandma, I clearly didn't come here for this."

"I know." She smiled sweetly. "You came because your mother sent you."

Warren's lips twitched slightly. "Exactly," he replied shortly.

"So when do you intend to get married?" she asked. She glanced at Warren, then to the untouched cup of tea and biscuits. "Eat up before the tea gets cold. I don't appreciate wasting of food," she said sternly, a hint of playfulness in her voice.

Warren looked down beside him and realized the untouched cup of tea and biscuits on the tray. He picked up the cup and lifted it to his lips, taking a sip.

"Marriage is another responsibility I don't have time for," Warren replied, dropping the cup back to the table.

"Responsibility?" Grandma scoffed. "Everything is a responsibility to you. Work, meetings, business. When exactly do you plan to live?"

"Work comes first, Grandma," he replied flatly.

Grandma sighed before reaching across and patting his hand. "I only want the best for you, Warren. Ever since you've taken over your father's business, you've become too upright. You need to loosen up. That's why I've arranged someone for you."

Warren's expression remained blank. "I'm not interested."

Grandma let out a chuckle. "There's a young woman I've heard quite a lot about. She's beautiful, intelligent and very industrious for her age. She also runs her own fashion company. She's Morgan Wilson, and I promise you, you'll love her."

"I'm not marrying anyone. I'm no longer a child, Grandma. I'm a man and I can clearly make decisions on my own," he stated, clearly annoyed by how everything was unfolding.

Grandma leaned back in her chair. "You can say that now."

"I mean it," Warren said coldly.

"Then perhaps you should tell the Wilsons yourself."

Warren's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?" he inquired, curiosity evident on his face.

"The marriage contract has already been sent to the Wilson family."