In love with the Mercer boys

Chapter Nine – The Polished Cage

The estate woke before dawn again, but this time it wasn’t Cassian’s return that set the marble floors trembling. It was the gala.

Silver carts rattled down the service hallways, loaded with trays of crystal glasses that clinked like nervous teeth.

It was as if the house itself was being scrubbed raw, every corner forced into submission under Mrs. Mercer’s sharp eye.

“No wrinkles on the tablecloths,” she barked as she swept through the dining room, her heels a staccato against the parquet. “Candles in even rows. I want the senator’s chair facing east. Elara, you heard me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Elara’s fingers shook as she smoothed a napkin, pressing the crease so sharply it could cut.

She could feel Cassian in the house, not because he spoke, but because silence seemed to settle differently around him.

Liam, by contrast, made his presence known in crashes and smirks. He trailed through the halls in half-buttoned shirts, singing off-key or snapping chip bags open with a grin that made Mrs. Mercer’s temples throb.

Between the two of them, Elara felt like she was being pulled in opposite directions, one toward heat and chaos, the other toward an unnerving stillness.

By midmorning, she was assigned to the ballroom, laying out rows of glassware along the linen-covered bar. The chandeliers above had been polished until they burned like suns, their light scattering across the glossy floor.

“Elara, slower,” Mrs. Kirkland muttered beside her, folding napkins with military precision. “If you chip one, it comes out of your pay.”

Elara nodded, but her hands were steady now. Her body knew the rhythm of work even when her mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

She was halfway through the fourth tray when Liam’s voice broke across the quiet like a stone through glass.

“Careful, Cinderella,” he drawled from the doorway, leaning against the frame.

Mrs. Kirkland didn’t even look up. “Liam. You’ll smear fingerprints all over the glasses.”

“Relax, fairy Godmother.” Liam sauntered in, ignoring her glare, his shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor. “Just checking the setup. Don’t want to embarrass the family tonight.”

Elara kept her eyes down, arranging glasses in neat lines, but she felt his gaze linger.

“You’ll be there, won’t you?” he asked, tone deceptively casual.

“I’m on the catering team,” she said without looking up.

“Good.” His smirk curved. “Then you’ll have to watch me behave perfectly all night. Or not.”

Mrs. Kirkland sighed. “Liam, let her concentrate .”

He gave a mock salute and backed away, his grin flashing one last time before the door swung shut.

Elara exhaled slowly, realizing she’d been holding her breath.

“Don’t let him rattle you,” Mrs. Kirkland muttered, eyes softening for just a heartbeat. “He enjoys it too much.”

That afternoon, the house swelled with voices. Deliverymen, florists, caterers,it felt as though the Mercers had opened their doors to an army, It was in the wine cellar that she found herself unexpectedly alone.

The cool air wrapped around her as she scanned the shelves, counting labels with fingers that had gone stiff from fatigue. She reached for a bottle on the top rack, stretching awkwardly.

A voice broke the stillness.

“You’re Elara, aren’t you?”

She spun, the bottle nearly slipping from her grasp.

Cassian Mercer stood in the arched doorway, his suit jacket draped over one arm. He wasn’t smiling, but his expression wasn’t unfriendly either. Just…steady.

“Yes, sir,” she stammered.

“Don’t call me ‘sir.’” His tone was mild, almost distracted. “It makes me feel like my father.”

Elara blinked. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she set the bottle down carefully on the counter.

“You’ve worked here long?” he asked, stepping farther into the cellar. His voice carried differently than Liam’s, lower, softer, but with an edge that made every word land.

“A week,” she said.

“That’s longer than most last.” His eyes flicked briefly to hers before scanning the shelves. “This house tends to…wear people out.”

Elara hesitated, then asked before she could stop herself, “Does it ?”

For a beat, silence stretched. Then Cassian’s mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Every day,” he said quietly.

Something in her chest tightened. She looked away quickly, fussing with the labels.

Cassian reached past her, his sleeve brushing her arm, and selected a bottle with precise fingers. He didn’t look at her when he said, “My brother bothers you.”

Elara’s pulse jumped, but she steadied her voice. “He’s friendly to me”

A flicker of something crossed Cassian’s face, amusement, maybe, or approval. “That’s one way to put it.”

She turned back to the shelves, pretending to study the labels. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Have you?” His tone was mild, but there was a weight to it that made her skin prickle.

Elara didn’t answer. Silence was safer.

Cassian studied her for a moment longer, then said, “You fold napkins better than Kirkland. She won’t say it, but she notices.”

And then he was gone, leaving the air cooler than before.

By evening, her body ached, but the house gleamed with ruthless perfection. The Mercers had built themselves a cage of gold, and Elara was trapped inside, polishing every bar.

Mrs. Kirkland had dismissed her for the night.

“Don’t think you’re done,” the older woman warned, wagging a finger. “Tomorrow you’ll be running till your feet blister. Get sleep if you can.”

Elara only nodded. Sleep felt like a foreign country these days.

She slipped into the changing room, folded her apron, and changed into the faded jeans and cardigan she kept rolled in her bag. Outside, dusk was already settling, and a heaviness hung in the air, thick with the promise of rain.

She caught the last bus into the city, the rumble of it loosening her clenched shoulders. Every time the Mercer estate faded behind her, she could breathe again. For a few hours, she wasn’t a servant or a shadow.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and wilted flowers.

Elara padded down the corridor, her sneakers squeaking faintly against linoleum. Room 312 was quiet except for the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Her mother lay propped on thin pillows, her face pale, but her eyes lit up when Elara slipped inside.

“You’re late, I almost thought you wouldn't come,” she murmured, voice raspy but warm.

“I know and I will always come.” Elara set her bag down and forced a smile. “Mrs. Mercer had us scrubbing candlesticks twice. I think she can smell dust from fifty feet away.”

Her mother chuckled weakly. “And you survived?”

“Barely.” Elara perched on the edge of the bed, taking her mother’s cool hand in hers. For a while, they just sat, the silence filled with the soft hum of machines.

She told her about the chaos of the day,the vases, the silver, Liam barging into the ballroom with his lazy grin. She didn’t mention Cassian’s quiet gaze in the cellar. That felt like a secret she hadn’t decided how to name.

Her mother’s eyes softened. “You’re working too hard, I wish I wasn't like this then I wouldn't be a burden on you.”

Elara shook her head quickly. “I’m fine mama,you didn't choose this,we both didn't so just allow me to get the money so that you can be better.”

Her mother smiled and slowly caressed her hair

“I need you more than anything.”

The words lodged in her throat. She swallowed them down, smiling instead, brushing her thumb over her mother’s knuckles.

Outside, thunder rolled low.

By the time visiting hours ended, rain sheeted against the hospital windows. Elara lingered until the nurse cleared her throat pointedly, then kissed her mother’s cheek and promised she’d come again soon.

The bus stop outside was nearly deserted. The last bus had already groaned away, leaving only puddles and flickering streetlamps. Elara pulled her cardigan tighter, staring down the road. The next bus wouldn’t come for an hour. Maybe longer in this weather.

She set off on foot to Laura's house. Rain plastered her hair to her forehead, soaked through her sneakers. By the time she reached the street to Laura's house, she was shivering so hard her teeth hurt.

The driveway stretched ahead like a river of black glass under the downpour. She was halfway up, each step heavy with water, when headlights swept across her.

A car slowed, then stopped just beside her. The passenger window rolled down.

“Are you insane?, where are you even going to?.”

Liam’s voice. Sharp, incredulous, but carrying that unmistakable grin beneath it.

She froze, water dripping into her eyes.

“Get in,” he said.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, hugging herself tighter.

“You’re soaked through, Elara. You’ll catch pneumonia before you make it to the door.” He leaned across the seat, pushing the door open. Rain spattered onto the leather. “Don’t argue. Just get in.”

Normally she would have refused, would have bristled at the thought of owing him anything. But the rain was relentless, her bones aching with cold. Pride couldn’t warm her.

She slid into the seat, water dripping onto the carpet.

Liam pulled the door shut, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. Walking in this storm like some tragic heroine. What are you doing out here anyway?, because you definitely don't go to clubs or parties.”

Elara pressed her lips together. She wasn’t about to explain her mother to him. That part of her life wasn’t for Mercers to know.

“Work,” she said shortly.

Liam glanced at her, eyebrow raised. “Work at midnight? Sure.”

She kept her gaze fixed on the windshield, watching wipers s***h back and forth.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” he muttered. But his tone wasn’t mocking now. It was quieter, edged with something else she couldn’t name.

The car purred up the long drive. Inside, it smelled faintly of cedar and rain.

For once, Liam didn’t tease. He just drove, knuckles loose on the wheel, eyes steady ahead. The silence between them was different than Cassian’s, it wasn’t sharp, but restless, humming like a storm that hadn’t broken yet.

“Stop here please,” Elara said suddenly, her voice softer than she meant it to be.

Liam glanced at her. “Here?.”

“Laura, she's my friend, she lives here and I figured I'll just sleep over, since it's closer to your house. I don't want to be late for the gala.” she said.

For a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then he only slowed, the car easing against the curb. Rain hammered the roof in steady sheets.

She reached for the handle. “Thanks…for the ride.”

His grin flickered, smaller than usual, almost careful. “Really. Don’t mention it. My reputation can’t survive you thinking I did something decent.”

Despite herself, Elara huffed a laugh.

She slipped out into the storm, cardigan clinging to her skin, hair plastered to her forehead. The rain swallowed her whole, cool and merciless, but it was better than sitting beside him another second and wondering why her heart was beating too fast.

Behind her, Liam’s headlights lingered a beat longer before sweeping away int

o the night.

Elara pulled her hood tighter and walked toward Laura’s door, the sound of thunder rolling overhead. And she couldn’t tell if it was the storm or Liam Mercer that still made her pulse race.