Once miss Reed was gone and the door clicked shut, the silence returned. Thick and unfamiliar. Noël stood in the middle of his room, holding his bag, then gently placed it on the floor. He exhaled slowly.
"Okay," he whispered to himself, clapping his hands lightly for courage. "You've got this. It's just a house. Just a job."
He gave himself a reassuring pat on the chest and a lopsided smile in the mirror. Fake it till you make it, right?
He decided a bath was the first thing he needed. His muscles ached from travel, and more than anything, he needed to feel clean.
The bathroom felt like something out of a five-star hotel. Pristine white tiles, gold hardware, and a rainfall shower that looked like it could wash off entire memories. Noël explored every corner, marveling at the heated floor and soft towels. He stripped slowly, carefully folding his worn clothes.
It had been a while since he took a proper shower. A real shower. The last time was his final day at the orphanage. Since university, things had been rough. He was doing well academically, but his living situation had been a nightmare. Sharing a cramped dorm with Alphas who didn't think twice about bullying him for being an Omega. Most days, he kept his head down. His only friend was a Beta named Leo, someone he could actually talk to. But after Noël dropped out and disappeared from campus, they lost contact. It had already been four months.
He stood under the warm water for what felt like forever, letting it wash away the fatigue, the anxiety, the ache in his chest he didn't always admit was there.
_______
When he finally stepped out, wrapped in a soft towel and breathing easier, he felt lighter. Still scared—but lighter.
He changed into clean clothes and headed downstairs to the kitchen. It was Saturday, which meant dinner duty.
The kitchen was massive. Spotless, stainless steel counters, every spice and ingredient labeled and perfectly arranged. But no instructions. Nothing about Avery's preferences, allergies, or favorite meals. Noël felt lost.
He stood in front of the fridge for a while, chewing on his lip, trying to think. "Alright, Noël… think like a rich man. What would a rich man want?"
He pulled out his old, slightly cracked phone and typed in the Wi-Fi password Miss Reed had given him. The signal bars lit up. He searched online and found something that caught his eye: Poulet Rôti au Beurre Truffé—roasted chicken with truffle butter and garlic confit. He had never made it before, and truffles weren't exactly part of his childhood pantry, but the ingredients were all there in Avery's well-stocked kitchen. Maybe this was a sign.
He set to work, cautious at first, then gradually gaining confidence. He seasoned the bird carefully, using the culinary techniques he'd learned before dropping out of school: basting with butter, stuffing the inside with herbs and lemon, slow-roasting it with precision. The smell filled the kitchen—earthy, rich, and a little intoxicating.
When it was done, he stared at the glossy, golden-brown skin and tried to imagine what it was supposed to taste like. He had no frame of reference—but it looked right. And more importantly, it felt like he'd done his best.
Still… what if it wasn't enough?
He hesitated for a second before deciding to make dessert, too. Better to do too much than too little on the first day. Something neutral. Safe. Cookies.
He got to work on a simple batch—browned butter, vanilla, a mix of dark and white chocolate chunks. It was calming, like muscle memory. As he kneaded the dough, he hummed to himself softly, finally feeling the tiniest bit at home. Once the cookies were in the oven, he cleaned up, loaded the dishwasher, and wiped down the counters.
Then he glanced at the time: 7:30 PM.
He turned the warming drawer on low heat to keep the food warm. Avery wasn't due home until 8 at the earliest, according to Miss Reed.
Noël took a moment to rest, leaning against the island counter. Ten minutes passed before he got up again to check on the cookies. He opened the oven door just as he heard the soft thump of the front door closing.
Footsteps echoed softly against the hardwood floor. Noël's breath caught.
He looked up and there he was. Tall, lean, expensive-looking. Dressed in a charcoal coat, Avery walked into the kitchen with calm precision, as if nothing in this house ever surprised him. His expression was unreadable, his eyes sharp.
"You're early," Noël said before he could stop himself.
Avery's eyes flicked over to him. "I live here."
"Right. Yes, I mean Miss Reed said you usually get home around eight."
Avery raised a brow, unamused. "Should I have texted first?"
"No! No, of course not. You live here. You don't need to—uh—sorry."
He watched as Avery set down his keys and removed his coat. Noël's fingers twitched. He suddenly felt like he'd overstepped by cooking anything at all.
"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I cooked roasted chicken… with truffle butter. And there are cookies in the oven," Noël explained. "I just wanted to make a good impression."
__________
Avery had not planned to come home early. A canceled dinner meeting gave him a rare free hour, and a strange curiosity about the new hire pulled him back to the mansion sooner than expected.
He wasn't sure what he expected. Someone stiff, someone desperate maybe. But what he found was a slim young man standing awkwardly in the kitchen, cheeks slightly flushed, the smell of roasted garlic and herbs floating around him.
Avery blinked at the sight of the food. He actually cooked.
He glanced toward the warming drawer and opened it. The golden skin of the roast chicken gleamed under the lights. The presentation was good, elegant but not pretentious.
"You went all out," he said.
Noël nodded nervously. "It's my first day. I didn't want to mess it up."
Avery studied him for a beat longer. He wasn't used to this. Someone doing things without being told. People in his space. Trying too hard.
"You'll be scored weekly," he said, just to remind him. "No one told you to impress me today."
"I know," Noël replied softly. "I just thought it would be a good start."
There was something in the way he said it. Uncertain, but not fake. Avery noticed the way he looked down after speaking, the way his fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the counter. Fragile, but not weak.
Interesting.
"We'll see if it tastes as good as it smells," he said finally, rolling up his sleeves.
Noël immediately began plating the food, his hands efficient but visibly tense. Avery sat down at the table, watching him from the corner of his eye.
Something about the whole situation felt strange.
This boy didn't feel like a mere street boy. He had shadows behind his eyes. Layers. And for reasons Avery didn't care to examine yet, he suddenly wanted to know how deep those layers went.