35 New Arrangement

**Annabel's POV**

I stood still, unsure of how to proceed. The two girls cast nervous glances our way, clearly sensing the tension in the air. 

Michelle seemed unfazed as she stared at the scene with an arched brow. Darius moved toward the table, his every step commanding attention.

"Michelle, Aida will give you your new orders," Darius said, his tone clipped and final. He didn’t spare her another glance as his piercing gaze shifted to me. 

For a moment, I couldn’t read his expression, and the uncertainty made my stomach twist.

"Come on, let’s eat," he ordered, motioning toward the table.

I hesitated, my mind racing. 

Michelle shot me a look of pure spite and disdain, her lips curling as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. 

Truthfully, neither could I. 

Darius asking me to join him for breakfast? This felt like anything but casual. 

A test? A trap? I couldn’t tell, but I knew one thing—I had to tread carefully.

Darius guided me to a seat right next to him, his movements deliberate, as if emphasizing the proximity for some unseen audience. 

The tension in the room was palpable, though it lightened slightly when he dismissed the two young women and Michelle with a wave of his hand. 

They bowed and left without a word, their absence leaving the room eerily quiet. It was just Darius and me now, alone.

I couldn’t help but fidget under his gaze. His eyes roamed over me, settling on the plain apron tied around my waist.

"An apron?" he remarked, his voice edged with disapproval.

I looked down at myself, suddenly hyperaware of how out of place I must have seemed. "I—"

"Don’t dress like a servant around here anymore," he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. "You’re not one of them."

I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him correctly. The shock must have shown on my face because he gave me a faint, almost amused smile. I nodded slowly, still processing the unexpected shift.

"Come on, eat. You must be famished," he said, his tone softening. There was warmth in his smile now, a warmth I wasn’t sure was genuine or calculated. 

Either way, it unsettled me. When we arrived earlier, he’d been radiating irritation, barely containing whatever had put him in a bad mood. 

Now, his demeanor was so different that it left me suspicious.

I reached for a piece of bread, my hands steady despite the whirlwind inside me. As I nibbled at it, Darius broke the silence, his voice casual but clearly aimed at drawing me out.

"So, Michelle is your sister-in-law?"

I nodded cautiously, unsure of where this was leading. He already knew the answer, which meant he wasn’t really asking—he was probing. For what, I couldn’t say.

"You seem at loggerheads with her. Was there competition between you two back home?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied my reaction.

I shook my head quickly, unsure of how much I should say. Darius didn’t strike me as someone who appreciated chatter, especially idle explanations. His sharp eyes missed nothing, and I suspected he already had some idea of the truth.

"You should feel free with me, you know," Darius said softly, his knife gliding through the bacon with practiced ease. Instead of taking a bite himself, he leaned forward, offering it to me. His hand lingered, steady, patient.

I hesitated. Just for a moment, but it was enough to draw a sigh from him. Something about my resistance—a shy, almost instinctive withdrawal—seemed to touch a place of vulnerability in him. His brows furrowed, not in anger, but in an unspoken plea.

"You should be free around me, Ann," he said again, his voice gentle but insistent. "I know this is new, maybe even impossible, but I’m trying here. The least you could do is meet me halfway."

He wasn’t asking, not really. 

It was a quiet demand, born of a place that wanted understanding. I nodded, finally opening my mouth and letting the piece of bacon brush my lips. It tasted like tenderness and something else I couldn’t name. I chewed, the flavours grounding me.

"Tell me, then," Darius said after a beat, leaning back and gesturing toward my untouched plate. His eyes searched mine, bright with an odd excitement. "How was it with them? Back home?"

The word home hit a tender place inside me. He nudged my hand toward the fork, and I obeyed, picking it up, if only to distract myself from the weight of the question. But for the first time, I let myself feel the faint, flickering warmth of comfort in his presence.

"Everything was fine," I began, my voice quieter than I intended. My eyes fixed on the table as the words unspooled. 

"Maxwell’s stepmother and brother—they didn’t cross any lines while he was alive. In fact, they were... polite. Respectful, even. But then, well..." I paused, swallowing hard. "Then what happened, happened.

"Maxwell went to secure the borders, to protect us from rogues who had started raiding, claiming land. He was so sure of himself, so determined. But he didn’t come back. None of them did. The ones who went to that fight... they were slaughtered. What we found—what little there was to find—was unrecognisable."

My fork clattered softly against the plate as I paused, my chest tightening. The memories came like smoke, choking, blurring everything. 

"After that, everything changed so quickly. Rebecca stepped into Luna’s role before anyone could protest, and Alfred—he became Alpha." I exhaled shakily. "Maxwell and I didn’t have children. 

No heirs. It was easy for them to take everything, to pretend I wasn’t there. I was just a nobody. A stranger they tolerated while Maxwell lived. Leaving me in charge would’ve felt, to them, like handing their legacy to an outsider."

I sighed, the words leaving me feeling hollow and exposed. For a moment, there was only the quiet hum of the room and the faint scrape of cutlery. 

Then, to my surprise, Darius reached out, his fingers brushing mine. The gesture was small, but it carried something unspoken—a promise, perhaps. A vow that, here, I wasn’t nobody.