Sebastian Blake –
I didn't expect the sound.
Laughter.
It started low — a soft, high-pitched bubbling sound like someone trying not to giggle at the wrong moment. And then it got louder. Freer.
Ray.
She came barreling into the marble foyer of my Kensington home like it was hers. Hair wet. Trainers muddy. Her bag falling off one shoulder. Her cheeks pink from the cold. She was dragging in the kind of joy that didn't belong in places like mine.
I stood at the top of the staircase, watching silently as she twirled in a circle for one of the maids.
"You should've seen Patrick's face when I told him I'd joined a mafia!" she whispered, giggling. "Don't worry, I didn't actually say it. But it was so tempting."
Lorna, one of the older housekeepers, gave her a tight hug and started fussing over her sleeves. I heard Ray murmur something about "you'll ruin the jumper, Lorna, it's cashmere!" — even though it wasn't. She just liked pretending she was posh now.
The girl didn't stop moving. Her eyes were everywhere, taking in the high ceilings and gold-plated fixtures and art I didn't care about. She was already asking about dinner, already leaving her shoes by the wrong door, already complaining about the lemon soap in the guest bathroom.
She didn't even see me.
Not until she turned, mid-ramble, and tripped slightly — her foot catching on the edge of the rug.
She blinked up at me, halfway through a sentence about the pigeons at campus.
And just like that, her entire face changed.
Eyes wide. Shoulders stiff. Voice… gone.
Like she'd just remembered what I was.
"I—" she started, voice small. "I didn't mean to be loud, I know it's your house, I just—"
"Ray."
She froze.
I started walking down the stairs, slowly. I wasn't angry. But I didn't smile either.
When I reached the marble floor, I stood in front of her. Close enough to see how her knuckles tensed around her bag strap. How her eyes flicked to my hands before she looked down again.
I hated that.
Hated that I still made her flinch.
"You're allowed to be happy here," I said, voice low.
She blinked, lips parting. "What?"
"This is your home too now," I said. "You don't have to apologise for laughing."
Her eyes welled up immediately. She bit her lip like she didn't believe me.
Like she'd never been allowed to believe someone like me could mean it.
"I'll have your lemon soap replaced," I added.
That made her laugh. Just a little.
And that sound?
It echoed through the house like a promise.
She didn't know it yet.
But I was going to make sure she never had to beg for her freedom again.