The hall was enveloped in a tense silence, broken only by the distant sound of footsteps echoing in the corridor. The soft light from the chandeliers cast elongated shadows on the dark wooden walls, and the scent of fresh flowers filled the air, contrasting with the heavy atmosphere that hung over the room. Mr. Cecil, with his impeccable posture and vigilant gaze, had strategically positioned himself between Taylor and Mason. For a moment, he believed he had averted an ill-explained end to that argument. For him, his dedication as a butler would not allow him to fail. At no point was his judgment anything less than perfect; there were no obstacles he could not overcome.
However, for an instant—a brief but crucial instant—his attention wavered. It was enough.
Taylor lunged forward, her pheromones released like an invisible yet overwhelming wave. The air seemed to thicken, charged with an energy that struck Mason like a blow. He, an omega, felt the impact viscerally. His legs weakened, and he fell to his knees, one hand instinctively pressing against his chest, as if trying to contain the hurricane now raging over him.
It was as if a thousand needles pierced his skin, each one injecting a sharp, penetrating pain. His breathing became ragged, his heart beating erratically, as if struggling to escape his ribcage. Mason tried to speak, but the words died in his throat, replaced by a stifled groan. His eyes, filled with panic, met Cecil's.
The butler, realizing his failure, acted with a speed that defied his age and position. His face, once impassive, now overflowed with a mix of agility and determination. He stepped between Taylor and Mason once more, his voice firm and sharp as a blade.
"Enough!" ordered Cecil, his presence imposing and authoritative. "You cannot act like this."
Taylor hesitated, surprised by the butler's sudden ferocity. Her eyes, once filled with fury, now showed a spark of doubt. She looked at Gunnar, who stood by her side, ready to intervene. He took a step forward, his defiant gaze fixed on Cecil.
"She did nothing she didn't deserve," said Gunnar, his voice firm but laced with tension. "Mason should know his place."
Cecil did not back down. He raised his head, facing Gunnar with a calm that only years of experience could provide.
"That does not justify violence," he replied, his voice as cutting as his gaze. "And you know that, Gunnar."
As Mason still struggled to catch his breath, Cecil knelt beside him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Breathe, Mr. Mason," he said, softening his voice. "Everything is alright now."
Mason, still trembling, felt a wave of relief mixed with a quick gratitude for the butler's help. But his expression soon turned to resentment when Cecil turned to Taylor, who now stood at the door, looking back with an expression that mixed anger and regret.
"Miss Taylor," Cecil called, his voice carrying a blend of authority and affection. "You know this cannot happen again."
Taylor did not respond. She simply looked at Mason, her eyes shining with an emotion no one could decipher. Gunnar gently pulled her by the arm, guiding her out of the hall. Before disappearing into the corridor, Taylor cast one last glance at Cecil, as if trying to convey something words could not express.
The commotion in the hall did not go unnoticed. In moments, other staff members of the mansion began to appear, drawn by the sounds of disturbance. Worried murmurs echoed through the walls, and curious, apprehensive glances turned toward the scene. Some whispered among themselves, while others watched in silence, clearly shocked by what they had witnessed.
Cecil raised his gaze, his expression serious and commanding, and swept the hall with a look that immediately silenced the staff.
"This incident will not be discussed," declared Cecil, his voice firm and authoritative. "No comments, no rumors. Each of you has your responsibilities, and I expect you to return to them immediately."
The staff exchanged hesitant glances, but no one dared to challenge the butler's order. Gradually, they began to disperse, leaving the hall in a tense silence.
Meanwhile, Mason was still on the floor, slowly recovering. He looked at Cecil, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and disappointment.
"Understanding?" he repeated, his voice laden with exhaustion and unrestrained resentment. "She almost killed me, Mr. Cecil! And you're trying to downplay what she did? How can you?"
Cecil remained calm, but his face betrayed the pain of having to choose between loyalty to Taylor and the justice Mason deserved.
"I am not downplaying it, Mr. Mason," he replied, his voice soft but firm. "I am merely asking you to consider the context. Miss Taylor is not a bad person. She is... going through difficult times."
A bitter, disbelieving sound escaped Mason's lips.
"Difficult times?" he repeated, shaking his head. "And what about me? What am I, then? Just someone who can be attacked?"
Cecil did not respond immediately. He knew that anything he said would only make the situation worse. Instead, he turned to the door, where Taylor and Gunnar had disappeared. His conscience weighed heavily on him, but he could not regret trying to understand Taylor, even if it meant justifying the unjustifiable.
As Mason stared at him with eyes full of disappointment, Cecil felt the weight of his own humanity—flawed, imperfect, but profoundly real.
The enclosed garden of the Kadman mansion was an elegant refuge of timeless nobility, with its well-tended flowers and the gentle scent of lavender lingering in the air. The tea table was set with its usual perfection, and Elizabeth, with her impeccable posture and serene gaze, occupied the seat of honor beside Gretta, Taylor's mother. The atmosphere was calm, almost peaceful, until Taylor and Gunnar arrived, their hurried and fleeting steps breaking the harmony of the moment. Taylor wore a tense expression, her lips slightly trembling, while Gunnar, by her side, seemed alert, his wary eyes scanning the garden as if expecting an imminent threat.
Two staff members, dressed in impeccable uniforms, approached the table silently to serve the tea. Their movements were precise, almost robotic, and the sound of teacups being placed on saucers echoed as a reminder of the formality of the setting. Elizabeth observed everything with a discreet smile, but her eyes reflected a certain unease, as if she sensed that something was about to happen.
"Lavender tea, Gretta?" Elizabeth asked, her voice as soft as the breeze swaying the flowers around them. "I think you'll love it. It's from my personal harvest."
Gretta nodded, accepting the cup with a polite smile, but her eyes were fixed on Taylor and Gunnar. The tension in the air was palpable, and the staff exchanged a quick glance before discreetly retreating to their positions, as if feeling the weight of the charged atmosphere.
Taylor sat beside Gretta, her eyes shining with a mix of anger and frustration. She clasped her hands in her lap, her fingers tightly intertwined, as if trying to hold herself together. Gunnar remained standing, his arms crossed and his suspicious gaze sweeping the garden, as if expecting something—or someone—to appear at any moment.
Elizabeth, unhurried, raised her teacup and looked at her guests with a calm smile, though her eyes now reflected growing concern.
"Taylor, dear," she began, her voice soft but firm. "Are you alright? You seem… troubled."
Elizabeth lifted her eyes from the teacup, her sharp gaze immediately sensing that something was wrong. A few minutes later, she casually asked:
"Where is Mason?" Her voice was soft but laced with curiosity. "Won't he be joining us for tea?"
Taylor hesitated, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She shifted in her seat, her hands trembling slightly, while Gunnar remained still, watching her like a silent guardian. The weight of everything came crashing down.
"I... I did something terrible," Taylor confessed, her voice breaking as tears finally spilled down her cheeks. "I attacked Mason. I released my pheromones... I couldn't control myself."
Elizabeth froze for a moment, the teacup hovering in midair. Her gaze, once gentle and welcoming, changed. Her elegance and superior upbringing could not hide the disapproval that now overflowed in her eyes. She set the cup down on the saucer with a slow, deliberate motion, as if she needed time to process what she had just heard.
"Taylor, why?" she said, her voice firm but still restrained. "You know how serious this is, don't you? Mason is a guest in this house, a friend of Damián's. He is kind, cheerful, and… an assault should never have happened."
Before Taylor could respond, Cecil appeared silently beside the table, his posture impeccable and his face impassive. He inclined his head slightly, as he always did, and intervened with a calmness that contrasted with the tension in the air.
"Lady Elizabeth, I apologize for interrupting," he began, his voice soft but firm. "But I believe I can clarify the situation. The incident between Miss Taylor and Mr. Mason was... misunderstood. It was nothing serious. Mr. Mason is fine, just a bit shaken. He is already recovering in his quarters."
Elizabeth looked at Cecil, her eyes narrowing slightly. She had known the butler for years and knew he was not the type to downplay serious matters. Yet, his expression was so convincing that she hesitated. Her fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the teacup, an almost imperceptible gesture of unease.
"Cecil, are you sure?" she asked, her voice laced with doubt. "Taylor just confessed to attacking Mason. That doesn't seem trivial."
Cecil kept his gaze fixed on Elizabeth, his posture flawless and his voice calm.
"With all due respect, Lady Elizabeth, Miss Taylor is clearly distraught. What happened was a misunderstanding, nothing more. Mr. Mason is already well, and I assure you everything is under control."
Taylor looked at Cecil, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and guilt. She knew he was lying, but the lie was a temporary relief for her burdened conscience. Her lips trembled, and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap, as if trying to hold herself together.
Elizabeth studied Cecil for a moment, her distrust still present, but she decided not to press further. Instead, she turned to Taylor, her voice now softer but still carrying a note of severity.
"Taylor," she began, choosing her words carefully. "Nothing justifies what you did. But..." She hesitated, as if searching for the right way to continue. "I understand that you are suffering. You've been through things no one should have to endure. But attacking Mason is not the solution."
Taylor raised her face, her tears now unrestrained, her eyes filled with a pain so deep it seemed to consume her from within. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words seemed stuck in her throat. Finally, they came out in a broken whisper:
"I should have died," she burst out, her voice laden with despair. "I want to die. My life has been destroyed, Elizabeth. I can't take it anymore."
The words fell like a bomb in the garden. Gretta squeezed her daughter's shoulder, her face now marked by panic and guilt. Her fingers twitched slightly, as if trying to convey comfort, but her expression was distant, as if she herself were struggling to process what she had just heard.
Elizabeth, for her part, stood still, wavering in her judgment as she faced the emotion overflowing from Taylor. Her eyes, once firm, now showed a deep sadness, and her hands, which had once held the teacup with elegance, now rested on the table, trembling slightly.
"Don't say that," Elizabeth replied, her voice now carrying an urgency she rarely displayed. "You cannot give up, Taylor. We are here for you. But you need to understand that your actions have consequences. Mason did not deserve this."
Taylor shook her head, as if trying to deny reality, but Elizabeth's words seemed not to reach her. She was lost in her own suffering, in her own demons.
Cecil, still standing by the table, watched the scene with a calculating gaze. He knew his lie had bought time, but he also knew the situation was far from resolved. His loyalty to the Kadman family was unquestionable, but, for the first time, he had deliberately lied to Elizabeth. Yet, he would not allow any variable to slip from his control. His lie was already in effect, and he would do whatever was necessary to maintain order in the mansion.
Cecil came to the conclusion that he had served the Kadman family for years and was now simply fulfilling his duty, even if it meant concealing some facts.
When Gretta finally spoke, her voice was trembling but filled with a maternal determination that interrupted Cecil's thoughts. She raised her gaze, her eyes moist with tears but filled with a strength only a mother could possess.
"My daughter is suffering," she said, her voice breaking slightly but remaining firm. "She needs help, not judgment. Mason... he will understand. He *has* to understand."
Elizabeth sighed deeply, her heart heavy with the complexity of the situation. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if trying to find the right answer amidst the whirlwind of emotions. When she opened them again, her gaze was filled with a mix of disapproval and compassion. She knew Taylor was wounded, that she needed support, but she also knew that the assault on Mason could not be ignored. Her hands, which had once rested on the table, now clasped tightly together, as if trying to hold onto the weight of the decision that needed to be made.
"Gretta," Elizabeth began, her voice soft but firm. "I understand your concern. Taylor is very special to me; her years working with Adam will never be forgotten. But what she did... cannot be overlooked. Mason did not deserve this. He is kind, innocent, and was hurt by something he could not have foreseen."
Gretta pressed her lips together, her eyes shining with a mix of pain and determination. She reached out and touched Taylor's arm, who remained seated, motionless, her tears silently streaming down her face.
"I know," Gretta replied, her voice now softer but still filled with emotion. "But she isn't thinking clearly. She is lost, Elizabeth. We need to help her find her way back."
Elizabeth looked at Taylor, her expression now gentler but still serious. She leaned forward slightly, as if trying to reach the young woman with her words.
"Taylor," she said, her voice carrying an urgency she rarely showed. "You need to apologize. And you need to seek help. We cannot let this happen again. You are strong, but even the strongest need support at times."
Taylor did not respond. She simply continued to cry, her body trembling as if carrying the weight of a world that had collapsed upon her shoulders. Her hands were clenched in her lap, her fingers tightly intertwined, as if trying to hold herself together. Her eyes, once filled with fury, were now empty, as if all the fight had been drained from her.
Cecil, who had remained silent throughout the conversation, watched the scene with a calculating gaze. He knew his lie had bought time, but he also knew the situation was far from resolved. His loyalty to the Kadman family was unquestionable, but, for the first time, he had deliberately lied to Elizabeth. Yet, he would not allow any variable to slip from his control. His lie was already in effect, and he would do whatever was necessary to maintain order in the events as he saw fit—perhaps this was it; Taylor needed help.
Meanwhile, in the garden of the Kadman mansion, the tea grew cold, forgotten on the table. The gentle breeze that once carried the scent of lavender now seemed to carry the weight of the tension and pain that hung in the air like a storm about to break. The flowers, once vibrant and full of life, now seemed to wilt under the weight of the silence that dominated the garden.
The sky was overcast, and a cold breeze cut through the air as Damián and Benjamin arrived at the Kadman mansion. The icy weather seemed to reflect the tension in the atmosphere, though Damián was still wrapped in the lightness of the day he had spent with his father and the joy of reuniting with Emeline, his friend. The oxytocin still flowed through his body, leaving him relaxed and with a faint smile on his lips.