Ten
1310 Words
Grace's POV
I just got back from enrolling myself, and I still can’t believe it—I’m officially a college student. My first day of the semester is in ten days. Ten. Days. I’m equal parts excited and terrified, but mostly excited. This feels like the start of something. A life that’s mine.
I stare down at my ID and registration card again.
College of Business Administration.
A stupid little squeal escapes me before I shove everything back in my bag. I climb out of the car—
And freeze.
She’s clinging to him.
If she weren’t wearing the uniform, I wouldn’t even recognize her as one of the household staff. She’s all glammed up, flashing a smile like she’s the star of some romantic drama and Damien’s the male lead. She looks like the women who used to swarm him at parties.
Meanwhile, I—maid version me, not bar version me—never touched him like that.
Damien’s head snaps up the moment he hears the car door shut. His expression shifts instantly, almost guilty, and he peels the girl off him like her touch burns.
“I think you weren’t hurt that much,” he mutters to her, just loud enough for me to catch.
I bow my head politely. “Good evening, sir.”
And I keep walking. Because I refuse—absolutely refuse—to let him ruin today.
I got enrolled.
That’s the only highlight I’m allowing.
~*~*~*~
“Grace,” Madam Eve calls from the dining hall. “Prepare the table for two. Damien and his… friend will have dinner.”
“What?”
The word slips out before I can stop myself, earning a sharp look from her and a gasp from me.
“I mean—yes, Madam. I’ll prepare it.”
Friend?
That’s her code, right?
Friend equals bimbo of the night?
My jaw tightens as I force myself to set the table. I can’t believe he’s eating my cooking with some random clingy girl. I hope they choke on the soup—gently. Just enough to make them uncomfortable.
“A little gentle, maybe?” Madam Eve says dryly as I slam the glass onto the table.
“Sorry,” I bite out.
The moment I finish, I retreat to the kitchen like it’s a safe zone. I try to distract myself with washing and chopping, but I hear voices in the hall—his deeper voice and…
Another deep voice?
Not a sultry giggle.
Not a clinging feminine tone.
I peek from the doorway.
It’s that guy he was with at the bar. Tof, I think his name is.
Damien catches me looking. A slow, knowing smirk stretches across his face.
I jerk my head back in, nearly hitting the wall.
Damn it.
~*~*~*~
Later that night, I lie on my bed staring at the ceiling. Everything is… finally looking up. I’m almost free of my father’s debts. My mom’s medical bills are almost gone. And now—I’m going to college.
A tear slips down my cheek.
A happy one, for once.
My phone buzzes.
Damien calling.
My body snaps upright.
Why the hell is he calling? What does he want? What could he possibly—
I hesitate too long.
The call ends.
Relief washes over me—only to evaporate instantly when he calls again.
Of course he f*cking calls again.
I pick up. “What?”
Silence.
“Hello?” I say softer this time.
“Did you know,” he says gently, “you’re the only person who makes me call twice?”
I freeze.
“The only one who snaps at me.”
My face heats with embarrassment, irritation, and… something else I don’t want to name.
“So?” I manage, voice embarrassingly shaky.
“I like it.”
My heart stutters.
“Good night, Damien,” I say quickly, annoyed.
Annoyed at him.
Annoyed at myself.
“Good night, Grace.”
His voice is soft. Too soft.
Like he called just to get under my skin.
And it worked.
---
The next morning, Madam Eve enters the kitchen with her usual neutral expression. How she maintains that calm, stoic face every day, I’ll never understand.
“Good morning,” I greet her.
“Ready Damien’s breakfast in five minutes,” she says while plucking tea leaves from a jar. “He’ll be in the gazebo.”
I blink.
But Damien doesn’t eat breakfast. Ever.
Why is he changing suddenly?
I plate the meal and carry it out to the gazebo. He’s already there with Madam Eve, mid-conversation. He stops speaking when I approach.
As I set his plate down, he brushes his leg against the back of mine.
Intentionally.
I jerk forward, gripping the edge of the table. “Sorry,” I mumble, even though I know damn well he’s doing it on purpose.
From where Madam Eve sits, she can’t see a thing.
And he knows that.
Which is why he keeps doing it.
I finally pull away, cheeks burning. “Is there anything else I can do?”
He sips his coffee like nothing happened. “I heard you enrolled?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s good. What’s your major?”
“Finance.”
He nods, looking—ugh—pleased. “So what’s your commute and living situation?”
Before I can speak, Madam Eve answers, “She’ll take the bus. And stay here at the estate.”
“And her classes are mostly in the evening,” he adds, sounding way too calm.
“That’s right,” Madam Eve replies.
His tone shifts—quiet but firm. “Too dangerous. Have her take one of the drivers.”
I open my mouth to argue. Madam Eve too. But Damien stands, grabs his coat, and leaves like the conversation is already carved into law.
“You heard him,” Madam Eve says with a shrug.
I pinch my lips together.
I’m the one who insisted on taking the bus. They’ve helped me too much already. I don’t want to drain more resources. I want to do at least one thing alone.
But apparently, Damien has other plans.
---
Later, I’m sprawled on my bed again, fighting a wave of boredom. I already finished one of the books I borrowed to prepare for my classes, but nothing keeps my attention. My mind keeps drifting.
To school.
To freedom.
To—
My phone rings.
Damien.
I curse internally and answer before my brain catches up.
“Hello?”
Damn it. Was that too excited?
“Well,” he exhales. I hear the soft squeak of his chair. “This is new.”
“What is?”
“You answering the first time.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I try to lie.
A small, harmless lie.
One he catches instantly.
Of course he does.
The way he talks to me is confusing—like he’s pretending to care, or maybe I’m just so used to people being awful that I automatically assume the worst.
To be fair, he changes women more often than his sheets.
Which—fine—he also changes daily. But still.
I must’ve said something out loud because he goes quiet, then says softly,
“I don’t know how long you’ll play your game, Grace.”
A pause.
“But I know it’s you.”
And then he hangs up.
No explanation.
No goodbye.
Just leaves me staring at my phone like an id*ot
My heart hammers against my ribs, confused and annoyed and something else entirely.
What game does he think I’m playing?
And more importantly—
Why does he sound like he’s finally ready to stop playing his?
- Writer
