Augustine rubbed his neck that still had his tie neatly secured around it, He didn't ruin it, his as he stormed out of Vladimir's office, even though hie was frustrated, the fabric tugging stiffly at his collar like it, too, was suffocating him. His jaw clenched. HIs eyes fidgeting around.
Just as he passed the grand staircase, he caught sight of Blue walking down the corridor, her small hand wrapped around Nala's. They were heading toward the dressing rooms, wet footprints trailing behind them on the stone floor. Blue's damp curls were clinging to her forehead, and she giggled softly, talking about what she wanted to eat after washing up.
"Perhaps some rice and eggs again?" Nala teased.
"Only if there's ketchup—And soup." Blue was saying when his voice sliced through the air.
"Blue."
Both heads turned at once.
Blue stopped mid-step. The usual bright spark in her eyes dimmed. Her fingers tightened around Nala's skirt, her smile faltering. For once, she didn't come rushing to him with her arms outstretched like she always did. She just stood there, uncertain.
Augustine's eyes narrowed.
"How was the session?" he asked, voice crisp, gaze flickering between her and the maid. "Are you learning anything useful?"
Blue swallowed. Then nodded hesitantly.
"I… I learned how to float today."
She didn't meet his eyes. She knew it wasn't enough. He expected faster results. Always had.
"Just floating?" His tone wasn't cruel. Just cold. "Would you prefer someone else? A more competent instructor? One who can teach you properly and quickly?"
Blue hesitated. Her shoulders stiffened. And then—firmly, louder than before:
"No! I like my teacher! She's the best!"
It surprised even Nala.
Augustine arched a brow. Before he could respond, Blue's stomach growled—loudly.
She froze, face burning red. Nala gave an apologetic smile and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"It's her lunchtime, sir. I should take her to eat," she said softly. "Say goodbye to your father, Blue."
Blue peeked up at him, small fingers still curled around her maid's dress. She raised her hand in a small wave.
"See you soon, Dada," she murmured before turning away, disappearing with Nala into the hallway.
Augustine stood there for a moment longer, watching the place she had just occupied. Her sudden shift in demeanor, the hesitation… it stayed with him.
Then he turned, his footsteps heavy as he walked toward the pool area.
Sara was crouched beside the pool, towel slung over one shoulder, humming to herself while she shoved a damp t-shirt and a pair of goggles into her gym bag. Her ponytail was a little frizzy, her tank top slightly wrinkled, and there was a general look of someone who was ready to clock out and never speak to anyone again. Especially not him.
She didn't notice Augustine in the doorway at first—silent, brooding, arms crossed like the villain in some very expensive noir film.
He watched her.
She didn't care.
That was what got under his skin first.
Then she turned, arms full, and nearly walked straight into him.
"God!" she hissed, jumping back a step. "You again?"
'What is with everyone snooping around nowadays?' she thought to herself.
She blinked at him like he was a stray raccoon that had wandered into the pool area. She recovered fast, rolled her eyes, and tried to sidestep him. 'No I can't with this man again. I can't. my brain does not allow it.' She shook her head sideways and thought.
He didn't budge.
In fact, he stretched his arm out, bracing it against the doorframe like a polished gatekeeper. Blocking her path. Again.
"Shouldn't you be greeting me?" he asked, brow arched with the kind of authority only someone who had never been told no would dare use. "I assume you know basic etiquette. You are employed here, after all."
Sara looked up in his direction, Her upper lips lifting hatefully, but then she simply sighed—audibly, dramatically, as if someone had asked her to recite the alphabet backward while running a marathon.
She glanced down at his arm, then up at his face. Her expression was flat. Deadpan.
"Of course. My mistake." She dropped her bag with an exaggerated thump, cleared her throat, stood up straight, And clasping her hands infront of her and put on the fakest customer-service smile ever born. "Good day, sir. What a blessing it is to see you here, looking so…" she gestured vaguely at him, "…pressed." His eyeborw lifted.
"Like your suit." She picked her bag up again. "Very neat. Terribly intimidating."
His lips parted and he was to respond to her words when her Her phone rang.
And as if it was a route to escape she turned around pulled it from her bag, looked at the screen, and smiled. She held up a finger to him.
"Hi, Mark." Her voice brightened instantly. "Yeah, I'm on my way. Just give me a sec—some troll's blocking the doorway, but I'm handling it."
Augustine stiffened like someone had slapped him with a glove.
She ended the call, gave him a look so dry it could have absorbed all the humidity in the room, and nudged his arm with the edge of her bag—not hard, just enough to clear the way. "Goodbye, Mr. Core i hope you have a nice day and I hope you let me have a nice day by not showing up before me again.
She slipped past him without another glance.
Augustine stood there in silence, blinking.
Did she just call him a troll?
He turned slowly to watch her go, his jaw clenching so tightly it could've cracked stone.
How dare she?
She was dismissive, she was insolent—and worst of all, she acted like he wasn't even worth arguing with. Like his words were just background noise.
And for a man like Augustine Corven, that was the worst insult of all.
The car door swung open with silent precision. Mark stood there, holding it with the kind of still patience that made it seem like he'd been there for hours—even if it had only been seconds.
Sara climbed in with a huff, shaking her head in disbelief. She slammed the door shut harder than necessary, buckling herself in with a sharp exhale that fogged the glass. "I can't with this man!"
Mark moved around to the driver's side and settled in, the engine purring to life. He didn't start driving right away. Just glanced at her, calm and unimpressed.
"You're breathing like you just survived a hostage situation," he said, tone flat.
Sara dragged her fingers through her damp hair, leaning back against the seat like the world had personally betrayed her.
"Close enough," she muttered. "That man is absolutely insufferable."
Mark didn't ask who. He remained silent yet his jaw clenched and he peeked at her from the corner of his eye.
"Have you seen people who exist and you get panicked because of that?" she turned around looking at him dramatically, Mark looked at her blankly as if he didnt understand what she was talking about. "Like they exist Loudly. With judgment in his pupils and a permanent stick somewhere up his spine?" she explained usign dramatic hand gestures showign how clealry frustrated she was.
Mark pulled out of the driveway with clinical smoothness, his hands steady on the wheel. "If your new employer is that bad why are you working for him?" he gave a short answer.
Sara's brow lifted. "That is the point. he is not the employer nor is he the client!" she hissed frustrated how Mark didn't understand what she was talking about, It was oe of those moment when you wanted a female friend to debrief your day to.
"I swear, that house—that family—they're like a broken clock. Everything's cracked, off-sync, wrong... but it still ticks."
Mark's eyes stayed on the road. "So?"
She looked at him. "So, it gets under my skin."
"Why are you getting so worked up about it?"
"I'm not." She paused. "It's the kid. Blue. She's… sweet. Like, genuinely. She just clings to me like I'm her only lifeline. And then there's him—Augustine. He walks around like a man carved from law books and steel. I can't even breathe around him without feeling like I'm committing a felony."
"You could always leave. If they are so annoying"
She shot him a look. "Oh, thanks, sage of wisdom. Never thought of that," she muttered, crossing her arms.
"I'm under contract," she added with a dramatic sigh, slumping slightly. "One year minimum or I get slapped with a termination fee that could buy me a small apartment in the city. Maybe two if I throw in my kidneys." She pouted, turning toward the window with theatrical misery.
Mark didn't blink, didn't offer sympathy. He just pulled the car gently out of its spot, his expression as neutral as a stone wall.
But the moment they rolled past the mansion gates, another car emerged—sleek, dark, and calculated—gliding up beside them like a predator.
It stopped next to theirs, the tinted windows dropping just enough to reveal the man behind the wheel.
Mark glanced over, voice flat. "Is that him?"
Sara had been looking away, still sulking, but at that word—him—she turned, and the moment her eyes landed on Augustine's face, her expression soured.
"Oh, gosh, my eyes," she groaned, physically recoiling. Her lip curled in visible disgust as she sank deeper into her seat. "Why is he everywhere?"
Mark's fingers curled slightly tighter on the steering wheel.
Sara yanked at her seatbelt like it was a safety harness before a rollercoaster drop. "It is exactly in moments like this that you prove that your car isn't just some fancy looking thing and it can actually drive real fast." she said.
He didn't reply. His foot pressed a little harder on the gas, and the car responded.