Chapter 109: He Didn’t
The attendant who returned was not soft-spoken. He didn’t smile. He didn’t offer her tea or polite courtesies—only a single nod before gesturing for her to follow.
Vanessa’s heels clicked too loudly on the marble floor, each step echoing a little more than she liked. Her fingers tightened on the envelope. Her throat burned from holding back the instinct to scowl.
They didn’t take her to a receiving room or any sitting area meant for guests.
Instead, she was led down a corridor suffused with filtered sunlight, toward a side terrace that overlooked one of the quieter gardens. The scent of morning citrus trees drifted faintly on the breeze. Everything looked clean, deliberate, and expensive. She paused at the threshold as her guide stepped aside.
Trevor Fitzgeralt was already there.
He wasn’t seated, nor lounging like a man enjoying a late breakfast. He stood by the railing, arms crossed, the embodiment of quiet authority. His white shirt was crisp, sleeves rolled just once at the cuffs, the black suit pants tailored to perfection. Gold cufflinks winked in the late morning light—subtle, but unmistakably expensive. Like everything else about him.
He didn’t speak at first. Just glanced once in her direction, then back to the garden below, as if weighing how much of his time she was worth.
Vanessa stopped three steps inside the terrace. Her spine straightened on instinct, shoulders drawn back like a dancer before a performance. The letter in her hand felt heavier now.
"His Grace is still asleep," Trevor said, finally. His voice was even. Crisp as the collar of his shirt. "So you’ll speak with me."
Vanessa offered the envelope with both hands. "This is for him. My apology. I—"
"No need to explain," Trevor cut in, his voice polite—but with all the warmth of marble. "I read the original. And the second version. Your brother had the good sense to send both."
Vanessa paled, lips parting, unsure whether to defend herself or retreat.