Soon, Max and Martha finished their meal. They wiped their lips and hands with napkins and left.
Next, they found themselves in the hall, a designer sofa set centred in the middle, furnished alongside wooden structures, and the walls painted in a comfortable mix of colours and patterns.
He noticed a few more antique paintings, larger than the ones in the hallway, and some artefacts arranged in beautiful symmetry, decorating the hall tastefully.
He took in the surroundings with quiet awe, observing the space adorned with collectables and fascinating painting frames.
Each piece served not only as decoration but also as a subtle showcase of the Knight household's noble roots.
'They did an excellent job maintaining and decorating everything here,' his admiration was palpable. 'It's pleasing to the eye and speaks volumes about our status without being overly flashy or corny.'
Although Max usually referred to the building as a mansion, its size could hardly compete with those old villas of English nobility. As a newly built structure, barely a decade old, it was grand, yet still limited to the aesthetics of the city.
Watching all the costly items around, his thoughts strayed. 'How do rich houses leave such assets lying around? This must be the reason many gangsters dream of robbing these villas clean.'
He let out a shallow breath.
How could someone like him, born to middle-class simplicity, truly grasp the polish and sophistication of the upper class? Honestly, he feared someone might sneak in someday and clean everything inside out.
Such absurd thinking hit him more than once. For a moment, his gaze darkened. "I should increase security later," he whispered inaudibly.
"What later?" Martha asked.
"Ah! Haha, nothing—just thinking of visiting Father's study later," he blurted offhandedly, avoiding Martha's eyes.
He was too embarrassed to admit his plan aloud, so he diverted his gaze.
Lost in thought, they found themselves seated on the sofa, its surface soft and plush, wrapping cosy and snug against their bodies.
They enjoyed the quiet moment a little longer.
Martha broke the serene silence, her voice tinged with concern. "Max, Victor called. He'll be here shortly, around noon."
Her words carried weight, and her eyes scanned him carefully.
Max laced his fingers together, digesting her words and the implication behind them. He swallowed hard, meeting her gaze with smouldering resolve.
His inherited memories made it clear that the circumstances were perilous; he needed to understand how much. He had to prepare for the worst.
"Did he say anything else?" he asked.
Martha seemed prepared. "He said the basic documents are ready, and legal matters have been settled. You'll need to assess the rest when he arrives."
He hummed, and turned the words over in his mind. His knuckles tightened into fists, teeth clenched.
'It's hard,' he thought inwardly.
His only relief, he still had time to prepare. When Victor arrives, he can get a better overview of his situation.
Although Martha could find out more if he asked, her tired eyes—sunken from hardship and grief—stopped the words in his throat. The past few months had washed everyone into sorrow and gloom.
His eyes moistened. 'Her wrinkles have increased,' his gaze lingered around her eyes. "Grandma, I'm sorry for my pathetic behaviour. I felt when everyone needed me to be strong and…" his voice choked, "You needed me too."
She pulled his palm into hers, wrapping them warmly—a gentle stare sweeping through his heartache. "No, my boy. We were all lost. It was disastrous, and we all mourned. You came back, and I'm proud of you, always."
His downcast eyes flared with emotion. "Grandma, I'll become someone you and they can be proud of…." His words trailed off.
"I'm already proud of you," Martha whispered, her eyes shimmering just like his.
A silence settled between them. Max sniffled and swiftly wiped the emerging tear at the corner of his eye. He swallowed his apology. Martha's feelings, what she conveyed, addressed the lingering regret he felt from the previous owner.
He understood, they needed to move on. Rather than being helpless, apologising, and slumping in loss, it was genuine affection they should express and hold close.
"Thanks," he replied in a whisper. His other hand settled over Martha's.
Although not blood-related, Martha had a special place in his heart.
He gradually pulled back his hand, his face flushing from embarrassment, as a man with an older soul holding back his tears. Unable to face the rising lump in his throat, he shot to his feet.
"Grandma, I'll check Father's study. I'll meet you later," he blurted and bolted out of the cringy situation. He found himself getting too clingy. It was unbecoming for a man, he scoffed to himself.
Martha watched him rush out of the hall. A giggle escaped her lips; she covered her laugh with her palm, her eyes noting Max's red ears.
"He still behaves like this—avoiding his feelings and embarrassed to say them out loud," she mused with a lingering smile.
Her gaze drifted, remembering something. She immediately dabbed the corner of her eyes softly.
"Arthur, your son's fine now. I hope you also find your peace," she smiled maternally.
Her eyes glanced at a certain portrait of an older man with longing. Then, she held a loving smile…not quite familial, but something deeper.
"Your family's in the right hands. Don't worry."
Then only her relaxed breathing echoed in the tranquillity of the hall.
*****
Meanwhile, Max walked toward his father's study, his heart heavy with each step, and the weight on his shoulders stacked proportionally.
He gulped the rushing emotions in his throat. His eyes held meaning, harder to describe.
However, it seemed fate had other plans.
Ding—!
A sound echoed in his ears. Frozen, he stiffened and alarmed. His body tensed immediately.
He turned around swiftly, scanning everywhere, but nothing was around. He frowned. The sound was close. Closer than he would have liked.
"No," he exclaimed.
The sound had resounded as if its origin were within Max himself.
Promptly, his eyes located the source—the system icon, dormant until now, blinked violently in red and blue. It hovered in the corner of his vision, no longer idle.
Max's heart thudded.
Shocked, he willed it open. Instantly, a translucent interface bloomed in front of his eyes.
The smile about to curl on his lips suddenly froze. He might've danced joyfully, now that the system finally worked, only for some dreadful countdown to flash across the screen.
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10:00 Minutes
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"The hell?" he whispered, panic rising.
….
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