~Leon's POV~
Frank rubbed his back, murmuring, "It's okay. It's alright, Beck."
I stood paralyzed in the shadows, my blood turning to ice. My mind raced, clawing for an answer.
Who was he talking about? Who was the person Beck believed hated him so deeply that it was tearing him apart like this?
Before I could hear the name, before the truth could be confirmed, they began to pull apart.
Frank held him by the shoulders, looking him in the eyes with a sincerity that made my stomach churn. "Don't worry, Beck. If it ever gets to be too much for you, remember you can always come to me. Or you can just leave. You can take a break from all of this if you choose to. You don't have to endure this."
Beck wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, nodding slowly as if finally processing the offer. "I... I understand. Thank you, Mr. Frank."
Panic flared in my chest. They were moving back toward the house.
If they caught me eavesdropping, it would be a disaster. I couldn't let them see me standing here like a fool in the dark.
I didn't wait another second. I spun around and retreated into the darkness of the hallway, my footsteps silent.
I made it back toward the lounge area before they could emerge, but my head was spinning. Who could make him cry like that? Who was the person he was so desperate to please, yet felt so rejected by?
I walked straight to my suite, the air in the residence suddenly feeling too thin. I slammed the door behind me and paced the room, my mind a mess of suspicion.
"Why does he hate me so much?" Beck's broken voice kept repeating in my ears.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door. I was the one who owned him, the one who controlled his schedule and his life, yet he was out there sharing his deepest heartbreaks with Frank.
I waited for the handle to turn. My pulse was a frantic rhythm in my throat. I wanted to demand a name. I wanted to know who had the power to make my maid cry, to make him feel so utterly despised.
But the handle didn't turn.
Ten minutes passed. Then thirty. Then an hour.
The celebration outside was muffled by the thick walls, the distant bass of the music mocking my solitude. I couldn't bring myself to go back out there. The victory of the fashion show felt hollow now, overshadowed by the image of Becklan shaking in Frank's arms.
I sat in the silence, my mind churning with dark possibilities. Was it an ex? A family member?
It wasn't until midnight that I finally heard it, a soft, fumbling thud against the wood, followed by a weak, hesitant knock.
I stood up instantly and yanked the door open.
Becklan stood there, but he wasn't the same person who had run away crying. His hair was a mess, his shirt was untucked, and his eyes were glazed over, swimming in a sea of intoxication. He was drunk, too drunk to even stand straight.
As soon as the door opened, his remaining strength vanished. He pitched forward, his knees buckling.
"Beck!" I growled, stepping forward to catch him.
He fell heavily against my chest, his head lolling onto my shoulder. The sharp, sweet scent of expensive alcohol clung to him, mixing with the faint scent of his soap. He was a dead weight in my arms, his hands limply clutching at my shirt.
"Mr... Presdent..." he drifted, his voice slurred and barely audible.
I didn't answer. I scooped him up, one arm behind his back and the other under his knees, lifting him easily. He felt far too light.
I carried him over to the bed, the silk sheets rustling as I laid him down. He groaned softly, his eyes half-closing as he sank into the mattress.
I stood over him for a moment, my hands trembling with a mixture of anger and a strange, aching protectiveness. He looked so fragile, so broken by whoever it was he had been crying about.
I reached down to untie his shoes, my fingers brushing against the leather, when I heard his voice. It was a broken, slurred mumble that made my heart stutter.
"Why does nobody ever like me...?"
He shifted against the pillow, eyes still shut, but the pain was written into every tense line of his face. "Why is it always me? Why do I mess everything up… every single time?"
Fresh tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes, soaking into the silk pillowcase. He let out a few jagged sobs before his body went limp.
I stayed on my knees beside the bed, staring at him. I didn't understand any of this.
Then, a memory flashed in my mind, the night I had driven him home. I remembered seeing him crying outside his house, but I hadn't cared enough to ask why. I had assumed it was some petty family drama.
Now, a heavy weight of regret settled in my chest. If I had just asked then... maybe I would have a hint of what he was going through now.
I felt bad. Worse than bad, I felt responsible for my own ignorance. But above all, I asked myself: Why do I care so much? Why do I need to know who hurt him? Why does seeing him cry make me feel like I'm the one being torn apart?
This sudden surge of protectiveness for a maid was making no sense. I was Leon Verdanis. I didn't do "care."
I braced my hands on the mattress to stand up, but before I could pull away, Beck's hand shot out. He grabbed my wrist with surprising strength, his fingers trembling.
"Don't go..." he whispered, his voice thick with drunken sleep. "Please... just hold me."
I looked at him. Even in this state, he was clearly in agony. The pride, the distance, the "President" persona, it all fell away. I put everything aside and climbed into the bed beside him. I pulled his small, fragile body against mine and held him close.
I leaned in, my lips brushing against his hair. I knew he couldn't hear me, but I needed to say it anyway.
"Beck," I whispered into the darkness. "I don't know what you're going through. But I wish you could always be happy... I wish you could be that cheerful boy again. I want you to overcome your pain."
He let out a long, shaky sigh and tucked his head under my chin, finally relaxing. I stayed like that, my hand slowly stroking his back in a rhythmic, soothing motion, until the exhaustion of the day finally took over and I fell asleep with him in my arms.
The next morning, I forced myself awake early. I needed to be out of that bed before he opened his eyes; I needed everything to look normal. I showered and dressed in a sharp suit, reclaiming my mantle as the President, though my mind was still tethered to the boy in the bed.
I sat on the sofa across from the bed, a cup of black coffee in my hand, watching him as the morning light began to fill the room. He looked so different when he was sleeping, peaceful, without the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Suddenly, Beck stirred. He let out a low wince, his hand flying to his forehead as the hangover took hold. Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking against the light, until his gaze landed on me.
"AH! Mr. President!" he shouted, scrambling to sit up. "I'm sorry! I... I don't know how I..."
"It's okay," I interrupted, my voice calm, almost unnerving to him. I didn't take my eyes off him. "Just go and get ready. We need to head down for breakfast."
Beck hesitated, looking completely bewildered. He tried to stand up, but his face contorted in pain and he winced, grabbing the bedpost for support.
"Are you okay?" I asked, my tone softening just a fraction.
"I'm fine, sir," he stammered, his face flushed with embarrassment. "I just... I have a bit of a headache."
"I see. I'll be waiting for you in the dining area," I said, standing up. "Take your time."
I left the room, giving him the privacy I knew he desperately needed to process his confusion.
By the time Beck joined me at the table, he had transformed. He was dressed and groomed, looking fresh despite the rough night he'd had. He approached me tentatively, ready to take his place as a servant.
"Sir, what can I get for you?"
"Sit down," I said, gesturing to the chair where a full breakfast was already waiting. "Eat."
He stared at me for a long second, his eyes wide. "Thank you, sir."
As he settled into the chair, I motioned subtly. One of my assistants came over, placing a tray in front of us with the hangover medication I'd requested and a warm mug of herbal tea. I picked them up and handed them directly to him.
Beck looked from the pills to my face, his expression one of pure shock. "Is this... for me?"
"Yes," I replied, my voice steady. "It's for you."
He looked at me as if I were a stranger, his surprise so evident it almost made me smile.
"Unless you don't want it?" I added, raising an eyebrow.
"No, I...