Chapter 6

Clarence’s eyes opened slowly, the morning light filtering through the curtains. He lay in bed for a moment, savoring the rare feeling of not having to rush. It was Saturday, after all—no alarms, no frantic scrambles to catch the school bus. The luxury of a slow pace felt foreign, but he relished it. He thought about the conversation he had with Evelyn and felt a tightening in his chest. He needed air, space to clear his thoughts. Sitting up, he decided to take a walk around the manor grounds, a ritual he had started since moving there. He wanted to feel some grass under his feet, to ground himself in something real, something alive, in the midst of so much that felt unsure and unfamiliar.

He opened the heavy front door and stepped into the morning. He moved down a winding path, taking in the grounds slowly, as though to absorb them fully. The path took him past a small pond where ripples danced lazily on the surface. This is a beautiful place, he admitted to himself. It was far different from the cramped, noisy homes he had grown up in, where privacy was a luxury and silence a myth. He let himself imagine, if only for a moment, what it would have been like to grow up here, to have had this kind of space and beauty to call his own. But the thought was too laden with its own weight, and he pushed it aside.

Suddenly, he noticed he was not alone. He saw Anastasia sitting on a rock at the pond’s edge, absorbed in the act of throwing pebbles into the water. Her figure was small and solitary, her focus intense. She was trying to make them skip but with little success, each stone plunking down with a thud and a splash instead of bouncing.

He looked around, scanning the ground until a small pebble caught his eye. It was round and smooth, perfect for what he intended. He picked it up, feeling the cool weight of it in his hand. He measured with precision his arm angle and the strength of his throw. Just as one of the other foster kids had taught him, he flicked his wrist and sent the pebble flying. It arced gracefully, bouncing three times across the water before finally sinking.

Anastasia looked up, surprised. When she saw Clarence, her face betrayed annoyance for a second, before smiling. It was quick, just a fraction of a second, but he saw it.

“Good morning!” She greeted him with a bright, cheerful voice. “That was a nice shot.”

“Thanks,” he replied, a hint of pride in his tone. “Would you like me to show you how to do it?”

Her smile widened, becoming more genuine and warm, her eyes sparkling with interest. “Yes, please!” she said eagerly, stepping forward with anticipation.

Clarence smiled back, though it was a practiced, cautious sort of smile. Though his face tried to imitate hers in brightness, there remained in it something tentative. Underneath the surface of his expression, his mind worked its own calculations. Trust was a currency he hoarded more than he spent. Anastasia was part of the unknown, the unknown he was still unravelling. He still thought of Anastasia as the enemy, but you know what they say about keeping your enemies closer.

Evelyn was a bit morose this morning. She felt a deep ache in her heart, replaying in her mind her conversation with Clarence. The way the word “Mother” had slipped from his lips had spoken volumes, and the implications stung. She was indeed his biological mother, but she was not his mom in the way that truly mattered. She wasn’t there to comfort him when he scraped his knee or to bake him cookies that filled the house with the warm scent of love. She wasn’t there to hold him close when he faced the heart-wrenching loss of his father.

Jack had been a good man, she thought, her mind drifting back to memories of his gentle smile and kind eyes. Initially, he had been nothing more than a means to an end—a sperm donor to fulfill her purpose. Yet, over time, her feelings had transformed. She found herself nurturing a tender affection for him, even daring to dream of a future spent by his side, embracing the roles of wife and mother. But when her master summoned her back, she had left without a second thought, abandoning not only Jack but also their son, who would grow up without her presence.

How could she possibly explain to Clarence her unwavering commitment, her consuming devotion to her master? She couldn’t. It was an allegiance so powerful and absolute that it demanded everything from her. No words seemed adequate to convey the unquestioning loyalty that had pulled her away, an invisible tether stronger than blood or love. How could she make him understand what being a slave meant for her? To Clarence, she would forever be the mother who vanished, a figure who chose the call of something beyond comprehension over him. How could she ever hope to explain?

Anastasia was laughing, jumping, her face radiant as a child’s. Her last pebble had danced twice across the water’s surface before sinking. She couldn’t believe her luck—not just with the pebble, but with everything this morning seemed to promise. She felt giddy from the success, from the surprise of Clarence’s warmth toward her. She felt something else too, something she had never experienced. When he had guided her, his hand steady over hers, she had felt the gentle press of his warmth. She had felt the nearness of him when he showed her the trick, the unexpected and startling comfort of contact. Though she was used to skin against skin—her body, after all, belonged to her master—this was something new. This was a different sensation entirely, this shared experience. She hadn’t known an act so simple could bring her so much joy.

Clarence allowed himself the rare luxury of lowering his shields, if only for a moment. He wondered if the lightness he felt, laughing next to Anastasia, was what family meant. His mind stayed guarded, his face careful, but his heart began to hope, to take the small risk of imagining this could be a start. Even being close to her had been an act of trust, perhaps the greatest one he dared expend. He knew this morning of closeness would mean a day of calculated distance, a day where he would need to protect himself against inevitable hurt. Doubt and suspicion would resume their old, familiar places as soon as they returned to the manor, and he would retreat behind the high walls he had learned to erect. But for now, he allowed himself to experience the giddiness of belonging, if only fleetingly. Here and now, he was just a kid with his sister, sharing in laughter with the ease of someone who could almost forget he had ever been abandoned at all.

From her seat behind the mansion’s large windows, Evelyn watched both with binoculars. She noticed the break in Anastasia’s seriousness, the surprise and eagerness in her expression. How different they looked, she thought, when they smiled like that, when they were swept up in the freedom of their youth. When she saw Clarence reach out to Anastasia with such care, a deep ache flared in her heart. The pang of it startled her, made her catch her breath. It was the first time she had witnessed him show this kind of affection openly. He seemed at ease, as though even his own thoughts had forgotten to be guarded. She wished she knew how to inspire such feelings in him. She wished things could be different. She wished...

Elias Blackwood sighed deeply. He leaned back in his grand study, surrounded by the opulence of his own design. News of Clarence’s interactions at school lay before him. The report was meticulous, detailing everything, including the boy’s encounter with Doug and the implications of that clash. Elias shook his head, a small but potent gesture of irritation. Once again, he regretted granting the grace he had given. Such concessions always came with complications, but what was done was done, and he was a man of his word. He was honor-bound to keep the boy safe and sound, a promise that felt heavy around his neck.

Elias’s obligation was not solely because of Evelyn. No, it was also a matter of maintaining his standing, of not losing face in front of his fellow masters and mistresses. They watched with keen eyes to see how he would handle this delicate situation. The stakes were high and demanded finesse. Still, the real problem was now one of vulnerability, and it gnawed at him more than he cared to admit. He worried about the potential security gaps that Clarence’s presence might cause, each one a hole waiting to be exploited. The safety of the entire estate was his to guarantee, and any breach would be a failure he could not afford.