The breakfast room lay out in front of me like a stage set to make me feel small. A table that could fit twenty now had three people: Mrs. Dalloway, looking stern; Cousin Julian, busy taking notes on "image improvement"; and me, the gossip of the season.
And then, of course, there was Sebastian.
Sebastian moved along the sideboard with an elegance that seemed unfair. He didn't just pour tea; he made it look like an art. My eyes narrowed. Really, Sebastian? Even pouring tea?
"Miss Hartwell," he said smoothly, "Earl Grey. One sugar, no milk. Unless the scandal has changed your tastes."
I gripped my cup to steady myself. "Scandal changes many things, Mr. Kincaid. But not my tea."
Julian, completely unaware of the tension nearby, pressed on with his clipboard. "Breakfast seating matters. Miss Hartwell, sitting at the head of the table increases—"
"The head of what?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "The table or my embarrassment?"
Sebastian's lips curved into an annoying smirk, and I could feel his confidence. Oh, he's enjoying this too much.
"Both," he replied lightly, adjusting a plate of toast with such care that it made me grit my teeth. "Balance is essential. Tradition, and… entertainment."
I took my seat, my mind racing. His every glance, his small movements reminded me this was not just breakfast. This felt like a battle. Crayons were easy. School elections were manageable. But having him here, polished and in control, shook everything I thought I had mastered.
Julian fumbled with his notes as a chair fell behind him. Sebastian's hand moved quickly, fixing the chair before Julian could complain. "Precision," he whispered. A reminder of his skill. A challenge.
I put my fork down, my jaw tight, and promised myself: I would not flinch. I would not lose. I would find out why he was back in my life, and I would handle it with grace.
Because crayons were simple. Living under the same roof as Sebastian Kincaid? That would be the true test.
I glanced around the room, taking in details I had barely noticed before. The silverware gleamed as if it were scrutinizing me, the polished wood reflected the faintest movement, and the sunlight through the tall windows cut the marble floor in sharp angles, like spotlights highlighting my every misstep. Hartwell House hasn't changed, but somehow everything feels different.
Sebastian's eyes met mine briefly across the table, and in that instant, I felt the weight of a thousand unspoken challenges. He's not just a butler, I realized. He's an observer, a strategist… a reminder of all the battles I lost and the ones I still have to fight.
I sipped my tea, tasting the faint bitterness of caution in every drop. This morning, this meal, this room — it was a simple beginning, yet it already promised complications I wasn't ready for.