Lynn love

Chapter 3

As I approached the grand staircase, I thought to myself, House chores? Easy. This is something I did every day for my mother. With that confidence, I set to work, polishing the bannisters until they gleamed and scrubbing each step meticulously. I was halfway through when I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye.

Looking up, I froze.

Descending the stairs was a man unlike any I’d ever seen—except, perhaps, for Lord Dixon himself. But this man was different. Younger, softer in some ways, but just as striking. His jet-black hair fell slightly past his ears in loose waves, perfectly framing a face so flawless it seemed carved from marble. His pale skin seemed to glow faintly under the light, and his broad shoulders and muscular frame filled the space with an air of quiet authority. He had a presence that was magnetic, his steps deliberate yet effortless.

From my vantage point, I guessed he was nearly six feet tall, his stride as smooth as a predator’s. My eyes lingered on his strong arms, the faint outline of biceps visible beneath his fitted shirt. For a moment, I was completely entranced, forgetting where I was and what I was doing.

Then, I snapped back to reality.

The polished steps I had worked so hard to clean were now marred by muddy footprints. His boots left dark marks on the gleaming marble, undoing all of my work. Frustration bubbled up, and before I could stop myself, the words flew out of my mouth.

“Excuse me!” I said sharply, glaring up at him. “Please get off the staircase! I just cleaned it, and now you’re ruining everything with your dirty boots!”

He stopped mid-step, slowly turning to look at me. His gaze was sharp and cold, his expression unreadable. When his eyes locked onto mine, I felt a chill run down my spine, as though I had just stepped into the path of a storm.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

I held my ground, meeting his deadly glare with one of my own. The air between us felt electric, charged with tension. Just as I opened my mouth to retort, Rose appeared, practically skidding into the room.

She rushed to stand between us, her face pale with panic. Bowing deeply, she spoke quickly and carefully. “I am so sorry, sir. She’s new—she only arrived yesterday. Please forgive her ignorance.”

The man’s eyes lingered on me for a moment longer, piercing and unyielding. Then, without a word, he turned and continued his descent, his boots still leaving faint marks on the steps.

As soon as he was gone, Rose grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. Her grip was firm, and her voice was low but urgent. “Lynn, do you have any idea who that was?”

“No,” I said, still trying to catch my breath.

“That’s Lord Dixon’s only son,” she hissed, her eyes wide with disbelief. “The one I told you about yesterday.”

My stomach dropped. “You said we’d hardly ever see him!” I whispered back, incredulous.

“That was before today’s special occasion,” she muttered. “He’s only here because of the guests coming later. Just… be careful, Lynn. You don’t want to get on his bad side. And don’t ever speak to him like that again.”

I nodded, my frustration replaced by a sinking feeling of dread.

Rose tugged my arm again, snapping me out of my thoughts. “We need to hurry. It’s almost 9:00 AM, and we have to be at the front door with the others to greet the guests. Let’s go!”

With one last glance at the staircase, I picked up my cleaning supplies and followed her, my mind racing with questions I dared not ask.

The guests arrived right on time, their precision striking me as both impressive and unnerving. Everything about them exuded an air of authority and refinement. From my place by the door, I watched as a fleet of sleek black cars pulled up to the mansion’s entrance. The doors opened in perfect unison, and figures emerged, all dressed impeccably in black. They carried umbrellas that shielded them, not from rain but from the faint rays of sunlight breaking through the overcast sky.

The scene was surreal, almost choreographed. None of the guests lingered outside for long, swiftly entering the mansion with an elegance that bordered on unnatural. Their skin, pale and luminous, was the same as Sir Dixon’s. And their beauty—each one was flawless, their features almost otherworldly, as though they were carved from stone by the hands of a master sculptor.

I stood rooted to my spot by the door, doing my best to follow Rose’s strict instructions: Don’t look at them directly. Don’t draw attention to yourself. For over an hour, I remained still, my eyes lowered, as the guests sat in the grand hall sipping crimson wine from crystal glasses. I wasn’t allowed to approach, let alone serve them, my duties relegated to observation and obedience.

But curiosity burned within me. I couldn’t resist the urge to steal a glance. Slowly, carefully, I tilted my head just enough to take in the gathering. My suspicions were confirmed—they were all like Sir Dixon, their alabaster skin and ethereal presence setting them apart from anything I’d ever known.

Something else struck me as odd. The blinds of the mansion were drawn just slightly open, allowing only the faintest trace of sunlight to filter in. Even that seemed deliberate, as if to prevent the light from fully entering. And then there were the umbrellas. Why would they avoid sunlight so meticulously?

Amid the crowd, I searched for the son of Sir Dixon, the man I had encountered earlier that morning. But he was nowhere to be seen. Despite myself, I couldn’t shake my curiosity about him. There was something about his presence—his intensity—that lingered in my thoughts.

As the gathering began to disperse, the guests filed out in the same orderly manner they had arrived, returning to their black cars and driving away without a word. All except one. A tall, imposing figure remained behind, following Sir Dixon to his private office.

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In the quiet of the office, the atmosphere shifted, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Sir Dixon took a seat behind his grand desk, his posture as regal and commanding as ever. Across from him stood the remaining guest, a man whose presence was equally striking. The room was dimly lit, the flicker of a single lamp casting shadows that danced along the walls.

“Doctor,” Sir Dixon began, his voice calm but laced with authority. “What of the test results? Where is she from?”

The man, introduced as Doctor Max, adjusted his glasses and placed a folder on the desk. “She’s from the West, my lord,” he said, his voice steady. “The village that was destroyed several days ago… the one where the council conducted the purge.”

Sir Dixon’s expression darkened slightly, though his composure remained intact. “The village with the people who possessed supernatural abilities. Powers that made them invisible to our kind… and a bloodline unlike any other.”

Doctor Max nodded. “Yes. Her blood is unique—something we haven’t seen since the purge. She is the last of her kind, my lord.”

Sir Dixon leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the folder. “No one must know about the girl. She is under my protection now. Should I find a use for her, her blood could prove invaluable. Perhaps even... irreplaceable.”

Doctor Max hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “What should be done if the council inquires?”

Sir Dixon’s eyes gleamed, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “They won’t. For now, we say nothing. She remains here, hidden. I will determine her purpose in time.”

As the conversation concluded, Sir Dixon dismissed the doctor with a slight wave of his hand, his mind already consumed by the possibilities. Alone in the office, he opened the folder, the faint rustle of paper the only sound in the room. A single photograph lay within—an image of me, taken without my knowledge.

He stared at it for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he closed the folder, a whisper escaping his lips. “The last of her kind… and perhaps the key to everything.”