By the time Ethan and Davis returned to the estate, dusk had already deepened, the mansion glowing faintly against the darkening sky.
Deborah hurried to welcome them back, her hands quickly setting the dining table. But Davis brushed past her gesture, his voice flat.
"I'm not eating."
She watched his tall frame retreat toward the staircase, a knot of worry tightening in her chest. At last, she couldn't endure it anymore.
"Davis," she called softly.
His footsteps faltered mid-stair. For a heartbeat, he stood motionless, shoulders tense, before slowly turning his head, as he waited for her to come over.
Ever since she moved into the estate, Deborah had always called him Sir, keeping that careful boundary of respect.
But now hearing his name leave her lips, Davis felt something stir deep inside. For an instant, he thought he heard his late mother's voice.
