Waking Up As the Villain's Mother
Maybe the driver or one of the household staff had picked up instead.
Ajax pulled on a simple shirt and slacks, then made his way downstairs. By the time he came, the scent of warm bread and steamed milk lingered in the air. Susan, an efficient woman in her early fifties with a gentle, competent air—was just finishing setting out breakfast. Ever diligent, she had already laid out breakfast on the long dining table.
“Where’s Dylan?” Ajax asked, glancing around the quiet room. The boy was usually the first to greet him in the morning, bounding toward him with uncontainable energy.