Maisie POV
Maisie didn't really want to go down for breakfast or see her family. She'd even considered ordering Igor to bring her breakfast under the guise of it being her first day as an intern, but she knew her mother wouldn't let her hear the end of it.
"Mistress," Igor said, keeping his head bowed, holding her bedroom door open gracefully. She slipped past him, barely giving him room. She liked his smell; it was warm and comforting—like cinnamon buns in the oven.
"Thank you, Igor." She smiled at him, and they started down the hall together. Maisie kept her eyes on the portraits of relatives long since passed as they descended the grand staircase in silence.
Halfway down, the smell of breakfast wafted up into Maisie's nose, and her mouth watered. Igor had a disappointed, almost hungry look in his eyes; breakfast always seemed to be a difficult time of day for him. She wished she could offer him a seat at their table, but her father would never allow it.
Their servants received only the bare basics, and she wanted to change that someday. First, she'd have to grow a backbone strong enough to argue with her opinionated CEO father about the benefits of treating them reasonably.
The table was set with the usual polished silver and an assortment of flowery, gold-embroidered tableware she hadn't seen before that her mother must have found in a catalogue. A feast was laid out, featuring biscuits, sausages, bacon, and fruit, alongside jam, honey, and butter. Each place setting included milk, juice, and covered omelets for every family member. Her brothers might have been able to scarf it all down, but not her.
As Maisie maneuvered around the table, she tripped over a section of rug— "Mistress," Igor's hands were on her in an instant, steadying her.
Heat flushed her cheeks; she was embarrassed yet excited. Igor had never touched her hips before, and his hands were strong.
Igor removed his hands from her hips, lingering a second too long. He remained bowing, but she could see the redness on his cheeks and nose. He then moved to the far end of the table, pulled out her chair, and then stepped back to join the other servants along the wall.
An Alucard maid stepped forward from the wall, smiling politely. "Mistress, Maisie. Would you like some coffee with cream and sugar?"
"Yes, and make that two cubes of sugar," Maisie said, trying to maintain eye contact, though the maid seemed to be avoiding it.
"Of course, Mistress." The maid left for the kitchen.
Maisie tried to cut her some slack—she was an Alucard, after all. But she still felt nervous around them—Igor aside. Then he emerged from the shadow of the wall, playing his part. "What do you desire, Mistress?"
You, Maisie, thought but couldn't say out loud.
"A biscuit with butter and honey, four strips of bacon, and a tangerine."
"As you wish." Igor served her with practiced grace, a flicker of hunger in his eyes as he uncovered the omelet and placed it before her.
"Your meal, Mistress." Their eyes met, and she hesitated, her heart fluttering. His crimson eyes and pale complexion, highlighted by the warm dining room glow, reminded her of an enigmatic prince from the past, thoughtfully described in books she had read before.
"Thank you, Igor," she breathed, trying to calm herself before anyone else entered. Igor bowed and slipped away again, and she forced herself to focus on her breakfast. But her gaze drifted back to where he stood, and she had to look away quickly when he caught her staring. Even in that glance, she noticed how tense his posture was. She returned to spreading butter and honey across her biscuit.
She knew the rules. They lived in a kind of caste system, similar to those of the past. Her father talked about it as if it were a framework meant to keep society running, but to her, it just felt like 'haves' and 'have-nots.'
She found herself wondering whether Igor felt anything for her at all. Were his gentle bows and soft-spoken words true kindness—or just a mask? Realistically, what could she expect from someone in his situation? Despite her longing, she made herself snap out of it.
The dining room doors opened, and her parents, Harry and Mara Lennox, stepped inside with their personal servants in tow. They took their usual seats at opposite ends of the table—an old family tradition. Their relationship never needed an audience.
Her mother had masterfully styled blond wavy hair, peridot eyes, and a soft, feminine face. She barely looked her age because of easy access to advanced technology.
She studied herself in a small mirror, glancing between her reflection and the room, her hair bobbing with each movement.
Her father sat with his eyes fixed on a built-in feature in his glasses. He wore a sharp, blue suit, crisp white shirt, black tie, and polished shoes. His dark brown hair was styled to look commanding.
He never looked at her—like they lived in different worlds. For years, she could only watch him from a distance, shut out by silence. Of the two of them, Maisie looked more like her father. Maisie straightened her posture—back tall, hands folded, her chest so tight she could barely breathe. She knew she had to be perfect—or else.
Her father broke the silence with a deliberate 'ahem.' Igor was front and center; it was his job to serve the family their meals.
"I'll have what Maisie's having. My wife, too."
"As you wish, sir," Igor replied, and swiftly served them both.
"Mary, get my papers from the computer. Print them and put them in a folder." No response, but that was expected; it was just business. Silence returned, pressing against the walls.
The doors swung open, and her brother, Dash, strode in— completely oblivious to the tension he shattered.
At eighteen, having finished his last year of high school at Whitmore, he inherited his mother's blond hair and sharp green eyes. He was the youngest, spoiled without question, but he was still her brother. She tried to cut him some slack. At least he kept up with his studies.
Igor bowed as Dash passed, but her brother didn't even glance his way. "Hey, what's for breakfast?" he asked, sharp and demanding—already fitting the future CEO of Lennox Corp. Maisie gave him a tired smile, acknowledging him without inviting more attention.
Dash ignored her completely, thumbs tapping away on his phone—probably messaging one of his girlfriends. He lived in a bubble, blind to everything and everyone around him. People were just toys to him, distractions he cycled through without a thought. He even tossed out a joke about cheap Alucards targeting Igor, but no one reacted. Dash was loud and demanding, but he never managed to get attention.
His reddish-blond hair was combed neatly, but his amber eyes were downcast. His posture seemed heavy, almost depressed. He was thirty, yet always seemed on the outside of the family. She didn't know why he wasn't the heir apparent to Lennox Corp. He slumped into his seat, then held up his coffee cup for a maid to see. Maisie wondered why Leo still lived with them, or why he hadn't been able to get a job.
Maisie retreated into her device for the rest of the meal, focusing on getting to the first day of her internship.
As she stepped out of the dining hall, Maisie's eyes met Igor's once more. Her breath caught. His expression remained unreadable, but he hesitated before breaking their gaze. She felt something stir in her, and the sadness in his eyes made her wonder if he sensed her feeling trapped. He'd been assigned to her years ago, upgraded to her personal assistant, and she had named him Igor—warrior, fighter. The name had given her strength; she hoped it had done the same for him. She became unsure of what it all meant.