Three

I finally wrapped up unpacking the last of my clothes, folding them neatly into my wardrobe and arranging my shoes in a somewhat orderly fashion. The room still carried a subtle scent of fresh paint and polished furniture, but it was beginning to feel less like a showroom and more like home. I flopped onto the bed with a contented sigh, letting the afternoon sunlight stream through the sheer curtains and warm my face. For the first time since we moved in, I finally allowed myself to relax a bit...until my phone buzzed insistently on the desk.

Seeing Millie’s name flash on the screen instantly brought a smile to my face. She’s been my partner-in-crime, my therapist, and my personal cheerleader since kindergarten—I knew exactly what was coming. I picked up the phone quickly, my voice carrying a hint of relief.

"Millie!" I exclaimed, trying to match her usual high energy.

"Atlas! Finally! Spill! How’s it going?! Are you living in a castle now? Are there servants? Is there a chandelier in every room? Do I need to pack a picnic for when I visit?" Millie fired off questions in rapid succession, her excitement practically buzzing through the phone.

I chuckled, feeling warmth spread through me at the sound of her voice. "Slow down, Millie! One question at a time! Yes, the house is...huge. Absolutely huge. Chandeliers? Yup. Marble floors? Yup again. And I think there’s someone polishing the walls as we speak."

"Someone polishing the walls? Seriously?" she squealed. "Do they serve tea on silver trays like in Bridgerton? Because I am NOT missing that."

"Not yet," I replied with a grin as I leaned back against the pillows. "But the way Roderick keeps gesturing around and telling me to make myself at home, I wouldn’t be shocked if he hires another butler for that."

Millie let out a dramatic gasp. "Oh my gosh, Atlas! I’m officially jealous. I need pictures. You have to send me a full tour. And don’t even think about skipping the foyer. I want details—the chandelier, the staircase, the giant fountain outside. I want to experience it through your I*******m before I can judge."

I rolled my eyes with affection, shaking my head at her dramatics. "You know me too well. I’ll send pictures, but honestly, it’s a bit overwhelming. It’s beautiful, no doubt about that, but it’s just so massive. And—" I hesitated, realizing I couldn’t fully lie about my main issue. "—Rowan is here too."

There was a pause on her end. I could almost hear her processing the implications. Then, a long, exasperated sigh escaped her. "Oh, of course. That asshole . Of course he’s here. Let me guess—he’s brooding in the corner, glaring at you like you invented the word ’annoying,’ right?"

I groaned, flopping back onto the pillows. "Exactly. And he doesn’t even need to talk to make me want to scream. Just...exist. He’s mastered the art of the passive-aggressive glare. And somehow, it’s even worse in this huge, echoey mansion where I don’t have any walls to hide behind."

Millie laughed so hard I could totally picture her cracking up. "Oh, Atlas, that sounds hilarious from the outside. Awful for you, I know, but hilarious in that I-need-popcorn-and-a-front-row-seat kind of way. You’re practically living in a reality show, and I can’t wait to watch."

I couldn’t help but grin despite my annoyance. "Yeah, except it’s my life and not some show where I get paid for humiliation. Unfortunately, no paycheck for me."

"Fine, fine," she said, mock-pouting. "But at least you’ve got me. I want hourly updates on anything Rowan does. Evil personality? Evil smirk? Anything that makes you want to strangle him? I need every detail."

I laughed again, feeling lighter than I had in days. "You got it, Millie. I’ll keep you posted. But for now, promise me something?"

"Anything," she replied instantly, her tone softening.

"Don’t freak out if I sound...weirdly excited about the house. I know I’ve been complaining, but I might actually—" I paused, searching for the right words. "—like it here. Maybe."

There was silence for a moment, and then Millie’s familiar unwavering support came through. "Atlas, I’ve known you long enough to know that anywhere you can breathe and exist without being attacked by a bunch of rich jerks is a place you’ll eventually call home. You’ve got this. Just...don’t let Rowan’s scowl steal your joy, okay?"

I smiled—this time a genuine one—and felt a bit less anxious about the new life waiting for me downstairs. "Okay, deal. And Millie?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for being the best cheerleader a guy could ask for."

"You know it. Now, send me pictures, prince."

If only we weren’t so damn gay, I would have fallen for her.

I propped the phone against my shoulder as I refolded a couple of shirts that didn’t survive the suitcase. Millie’s voice still buzzed in my ear, her excitement spilling out, but beneath it, I could hear that familiar note of concern—the one that always slipped in when she thought I was in over my head.

"So," she said more softly after a pause, "how are you really doing? I know you’re joking about the chandeliers and marble floors, but Atlas...you’re living with him now. Rowan Harrigan. Your actual, real-life nemesis, the literal spawn of Satan. That has to feel...weird. Or maybe unbearable?"

Her words made me sink onto the bed again, my hand absentmindedly smoothing over the comforter. "Yeah. You could say that. It’s like being thrown into enemy territory and being told to make myself comfortable. Every time he looks at me, I swear my blood pressure doubles."

"Oh, Atlas," Millie murmured, sympathy lacing her voice. "I hate that for you. You know my house is always open, right? If you ever need to escape, you don’t even have to text first. Just show up. I’ll sneak you in through the kitchen door like we’re thirteen again, and Tori will make popcorn."

Her offer tugged at something in my chest. For a moment, I could almost picture it: curling up on her couch, listening to Tori rant about politics while Millie laughed too hard at bad movies. Safe, comfortable, simple.

I chuckled, though it came out softer than usual. "That sounds tempting, but the last thing I want is to third-wheel while you and Tori go all lovey-dovey in front of me. I’d die of secondhand embarrassment."

"Excuse me!" Millie shrieked in mock outrage. "We do not go all lovey-dovey. We are subtle and tasteful."

"Subtle?" I snorted, pressing my hand over my mouth. "Millie, the last time I came over, you two couldn’t get through a single episode of Stranger Things without exchanging heart eyes. I thought I was going to drown in the domestic bliss."

She groaned dramatically, but I could hear the smile in her voice. "Okay, maybe we’re a little obvious. But can I help it if I’m in love with the literal opposite of me? Tori’s all cool and collected, and I’m...well, me. A human golden retriever."

"That’s an understatement," I teased as I flopped backward on the bed. "You’re more like a golden retriever hopped up on caffeine. And Tori just sighs and shakes her head, but she loves it anyway. You’re hopeless, Millie. Truly hopeless."

"Hopelessly in love," she corrected with a dreamy sigh that made me laugh all over again. "And don’t pretend you don’t get it, Mr Frank Carrington Fan Club President."

I shot upright, heat rushing to my cheeks even though no one was there to see me. "What? I am not president. Maybe...vice president. Or secretary. At most."

"Oh, please," Millie scoffed. "You’ve been crushing on Frank since freshman year, and you still can’t say two words to him without stuttering. Meanwhile, I once saw him trip over his shoelace in the cafeteria, and you practically rushed over to offer him first aid."

"That was one time!" I protested quickly, burying my face in a pillow to hide my embarrassment. "And he scraped his hand, okay? I was just being helpful."

"You were being love-struck," she teased, clearly reveling in it. "Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you doodled his initials in your notebook margins sophomore year. Hearts and everything. You’re as hopeless as I am—just less willing to admit it."

I groaned into the pillow but couldn’t stop smiling. "Remind me again why I keep you around?"

"Because I’m your best friend, and you love me," she shot back without missing a beat. "And because without me, you’d have no one to keep your secrets or drag you out of your own head when Rowan makes you miserable. Speaking of—text me tonight. I need updates. Think of me as your lifeline, okay?"

My heart felt warm, and the tension in my shoulders eased a bit. "Got it. Thanks, Millie. Seriously."

"Anytime," she replied, her voice soft but certain. Then, in her typical Millie style, she added brightly, "Now go send me a picture of that chandelier before I combust."

I laughed again, shaking my head as I hung up. For the first time all day, the mansion didn’t feel so oppressive. Maybe Rowan could glower all he wanted. As long as I had Millie with her endless love, jokes, and teasing, I might actually be okay in this new life.

Just as I finished tucking the last of my clothes into the wardrobe, I grabbed my phone and started snapping pictures of my new room. The wide windows with their sweeping curtains, the elegantly carved bed frame, the little chandelier overhead—it all looked like something out of a lifestyle magazine. I carefully arranged the photos to catch the best angles, then typed a quick caption for Millie: My new palace. Try not to hate me too much.

I had barely pressed send when a sharp knock rattled my door. Startled, I set the phone aside and hurried to open it. Standing in the hallway was Carlby, perfectly straight-backed with his hands clasped behind him in that always-stoic way.

"Mr Atlas," he said evenly, his expression unreadable, "please freshen up. The first family dinner will be served in an hour."

I tried for an easy smile, hoping my voice would sound brighter than the nervous flutter in my chest. "Oh—sure, Carlby. Thanks. Could I just–"

But he gave a brief nod and turned away before I could even ask whether it would be okay to eat in my room like I used to at my old house, hidden away from Rowan’s taunts and glares. The words stuck stubbornly in my throat, unsaid, as I stood there staring at the empty space he had left behind.

With a long sigh, I closed the door and dropped back onto the bed, my body sinking into the soft mattress as if it wanted to swallow me whole. I picked up my phone again, added the last batch of photos to my chat with Millie, and typed: About to eat dinner with the new family. Wish me luck because I think I’m going to need it.

Almost immediately, the typing dots appeared, and Millie’s reply popped up: Luck? Boy, you’re going to need holy water. But you’ll be fine. Breathe.

A small laugh slipped out of me, despite the knot forming in my stomach. I pressed the phone to my chest for a moment, then turned it off, as if the darkness of the screen could help me block out what was coming.

Stretching out on the lavish bed, I stared up at the ornate ceiling, its painted vines twisting in delicate patterns and wondered how I was supposed to handle this new life if I couldn’t even dodge Rowan at something as simple as dinner. The thought settled heavily in my chest, and for the first time since stepping into the mansion, the room felt way too large, way too empty, and way too silent.