Maverick woke up with a groan, rubbing his eyes as he shook off the remnants of the dream that had left him feeling irritated.
He finally remembered that day—the day he met Julius, eight years ago. He was seventeen at that time, and Julius, if he remembered correctly, was just twelve, a stubborn silver-haired boy with an attitude far bigger than his size.
The vivid memory of that first encounter had stirred something in him, and now, it lingered like an unwelcome guest.
Still lying in bed, Maverick rang for his butler, Henry. As he got dressed and made his way to the dining room, his thoughts lingered on the past.
"Is my uncle already in the dining room?" Maverick asked as Henry walked beside him.
"Unfortunately, Sir Lawrence is not awake yet, my Lord," Henry replied with a small bow. "Shall I wake him up for you?"
Maverick let out a tired sigh. "No, I'll do it myself. You go ahead and have his breakfast ready."
