Chapter 221 090
DINNER plates had long been cleared.
The house was unusually calm. The television murmured to itself in the background, some late-night talk show host laughing at his own joke. The twins’ distant voices could be heard faintly down the hallway, followed by Wendy’s softer tone, probably correcting them or accusing one of them of cheating at whatever game they were playing.
Hazel sat curled into the far end of the couch, one leg tucked beneath her. The TV glowed against her face, but her attention was nowhere near it. Her thumbs moved quickly over her phone screen, expression shifting every few seconds, from a small smirk, to a frown, and then an eye roll.
Fully concentrated.
Her father stepped into the living room quietly, phone still in his hand. He paused for a second when he saw her there. It wasn’t often he caught Hazel alone like this, unguarded, not arguing, not rushing somewhere.
He slipped his phone into his pocket and walked over, then he sat beside her.
The cushion dipped slightly.
Hazel glanced up immediately.
“Oh. Dad,” she said, a bit surprised but not unpleasantly so.
“Welcome back again,” Adrian replied softly.
She locked her phone and dropped it on her lap.
“Thanks.”
A brief silence stretched between them, filled only by the low hum of the television.
“How has school been this past week?” he asked.
Hazel shrugged, the universal teenage response.
“It’s school.”
Adrian smiled faintly.
“That bad?”
“It is not bad,” she said quickly. “It’s just… annoying.”
“In what way?”
She shifted, pulling her other leg up and hugging a pillow to her chest.
“The waking up early. The stupid lights-out bell. The fact that you can’t even step outside without signing some form. It is like… prison but with uniforms.”
Adrian chuckled lightly.
“Boarding school isn’t prison.”
“It feels like it,” she muttered.
He studied her face for a moment.
“You are adjusting, though.”
She gave him a look.
“Do I look adjusted?”
He exhaled slowly.
“You are strong, Hazel.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Dad, that is not the point.”
“Then what is?”
She hesitated, her jaw tightening slightly.
“She didn’t even ask me if I wanted to go.”
There it was. He had known the conversation would circle here eventually.
“Your mom thought—”
“She didn’t think,” Hazel cut in. “She decided.”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried heat.
“She just decided I needed ‘discipline’ and ‘structure’ and ‘exposure.’ Like I’m some project.”
Adrian leaned back slightly, choosing his words carefully.
“She was thinking about your future, dear.”
Hazel laughed dryly.
“That is what parents say when they are doing something their kids don’t like.”
Adrian glanced at her.
“You think she enjoys being away from you?”
Hazel’s eyes flickered, but she recovered quickly.
“She is on a trip, isn’t she?”
“That is different.”
“Is it?” Hazel shot back. “She sends me away. Then she travels too. Seems fair.”
He sighed softly.
“She didn’t send you away to punish you.”
“Then why does it feel like that?” Hazel’s voice cracked slightly, though she masked it by looking down at her hands.
Adrian softened.
“She wants you to have opportunities she didn’t have.”
Hazel stayed quiet.
He continued gently, “She wants you to be independent. Confident. Exposed to more than just this house.”
“I was fine at home. I was fine here.”
“You were comfortable here.”
She frowned.
“What is wrong with being comfortable?”
“Nothing,” he said. “But growth usually doesn’t happen in comfort.”
She stared at the TV for a moment, though she clearly wasn’t seeing it.
“She didn’t even try to understand how I felt,” Hazel muttered.
“She did,” Adrian replied softly. “She just believed that sometimes parents have to make hard decisions.”
Hazel’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“I hate that she always acts like she knows what is best.”
“She is your mother,” Adrian said gently. “She is allowed to think that, come on.”
Hazel didn’t respond immediately.
“Do you agree with her?” she asked quietly.
The question lingered.
Adrian hesitated, not because he didn’t have an answer, but because he knew how delicate this moment was.
“I agree that she wants what is best for you,” he said carefully.
“That is not what I asked.”
He gave her a small smile.
“And I think… you are stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
She sighed dramatically.
“That is such a dad answer.”
He chuckled.
She leaned her head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.
“I just wanted one more year at home,” she admitted softly.
Adrian’s expression softened.
“I know.”
Silence settled between them again, heavier this time.
“She calls?” Hazel asked after a moment.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She asks about you every time.”
Hazel’s fingers tightened slightly around the pillow.
“She doesn’t sound like someone who doesn’t care,” Adrian added quietly.
Hazel swallowed.
“I’m still mad at her,” she said firmly, as though needing to reestablish that.
“You are allowed to be,” he replied. “Just don’t let anger be the only thing you feel.”
She didn’t answer.
After a few seconds, she reached for her phone again, unlocking it.
Adrian watched her for a moment.
“Give her time,” he said gently. “And give yourself time too.”
Hazel shrugged, eyes back on her screen.
“We will see.”
Adrian stood slowly.
“Goodnight, Hazel.”
“Night, Dad.”
He walked away quietly.
Hazel stared at her phone for a few seconds longer, then paused. Her thumb hovered over her mother’s contact name. She didn’t press it.
Instead, she locked the screen and leaned back into the couch, staring at nothing in particular— fifteen years old, caught somewhere between pride and longing.
George shut the door gently behind him, leaning against it for a brief second.
The house had finally gone quiet.
No clinking dishes.
No instructions.
No teenage footsteps racing up and down the hallway.
Just silence. He exhaled deeply.
It had been a long day, preparing rooms, coordinating dinner, managing the twins’ endless questions, ensuring everything was perfectly in place for Miss Hazel’s return. The old butler felt every bit of his years tonight.
He moved slowly toward his wardrobe, fingers unbuttoning his uniform with careful precision. The crisp white shirt slid off his shoulders. The waistcoat followed. He hung each piece neatly— habit, discipline, pride.
Even exhaustion had order.
He rolled his neck once, hearing a faint crack, then walked straight into the bathroom.
Moments later, the steady sound of running water filled the small room.
Steam rose.
Time slowed.
Under the shower, George allowed himself something rare, stillness. No titles. No responsibilities. Just a man rinsing off the weight of the day.
When he stepped out several minutes later, droplets trailed down his broad shoulders. He reached for the white towel hanging neatly on the rail and tied it securely around his waist.
Then he pushed the bathroom door open and stepped back into his room—
And froze.
His breath halted.
Someone was inside.