Chapter 10: Sold Rights
The sun filtered through tall windows draped in ivory, catching the fine dust in its golden light. The breakfast table gleamed beneath the crystal chandelier—quiet elegance in every place setting. Polished silver. Hand-folded linen napkins. A tiered dish of fruit that looked more like art than food.
Lucas sat at the far end, hunched slightly over a cup of dark, fragrant coffee. He hadn’t touched the toast. The butter curled too perfectly at the edge of the plate, and he found something about it unsettling.
He wasn’t used to mornings that didn’t start with noise. Or orders. Or threats.
Just the hum of soft jazz from a hidden speaker and the occasional distant click of heels against marble.
"Do you always eat in silence?" he asked without looking up.
Serathine glanced over her newspaper, lounging with a poached pear and a cup of something floral. "I find silence keeps the appetite sharp. But you’re welcome to fill it, darling."
Lucas hummed into his cup, noncommittal. Despite his worries, he slept soundly through the night.
The door opened precisely then, and the butler entered—David, tall and slim, with hair gone mostly silver and a manner so precise he might’ve been carved from one of the estate’s statues. He bowed slightly before approaching Serathine with a folded paper in hand.
"From my contact," he said simply.
Serathine took it, unfolding it with one clean flick. Her eyes scanned the page—once, then again.
Lucas knew it was about him before she spoke.
"Velloran," she said, folding the page neatly again. "Christian Velloran."