Chapter 18 Chapter 18
As Damian approached the specific room, he slowed down. Outside the room, three maids were lined up, waiting. When they saw the master of the house approaching, they became alert after exchanging knowing, fretful looks. Before he even asked, one stepped forward to explain.
“Ms Hart said we were being an inconvenience by making her uncomfortable. She said she was tired and needed a nap. She insisted on being left alone.”
"Is she asleep?" He asked as his eyes wandered to the door.
“Mr Blackwell, it isn’t nine pm yet. We intended to go in and wake her up at eight-thirty.”
After that, the maid stepped back, falling back in line and perfect silence.
Damian glanced at them briefly. “Did she readily accept your assistance?”
Another maid stepped forward, speaking with her head down and without making eye contact, “No, Mr Blackwell.. Ms Hart had been insistent on doing everything herself.. She didn't take kindly to our attempts at helping her. She outrightly rejected us and asked us to leave”
Damian’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, so she gave you quite a hard time.”
There was something unfamiliar in his eyes—on his usually expressionless face, anything other than coldness was rare.
The maids secretly exchanged looks.
“The only thing Ms Hart asked of us was to clear the closet of all items. She appeared shocked upon finding them. Coming out, she immediately asked if the clothes were meant for her or if they were left by some other woman who had previously occupied the room.”
"Other woman?"
“We informed her that the items were meant for her. She said she didn’t need them and asked us to return them. We tried to persuade her, but she was insistent. Then she took out her own belongings and arranged the room. We offered, but she didn't let us help. She asked us to leave.”
Damian’s expression returned to its usual cold.
“Alright. Leave.” He commanded with a wave of his hand.
The maids hurried away.
Once they were at a distance, he unlocked the door and took the liberty of stepping inside without asking. The lights were off, the lamps were dim. Luna was lying on the bed, covered with a blanket. As Damian approached, he noticed a small frown appearing on her careless face.
He stopped.
She showed no signs of waking up. Slowly, the frown faded, replaced with calmness.
He resumed his steps. Just as he was by his bedside, his eyes caught a framed pic sitting on the bedside table.
Two adults faced the camera—they weren't her uncle and aunt..
Damien picked up the photo and inspected it closely.
At their feet was a little girl around five, smiling brightly, holding cotton candy. She shared some resemblance to Luna.
That was all.
But if one looked closely, there was another child in the background.
His face was blurred, distant, almost deliberately cut out. As if his existence had been erased. Only someone observant would notice him at all.
After a moment, Damian placed the frame down. He turned toward Luna again. As he stepped closer, she didn’t stir. He reached out… his hand hovering inches from her face before stopping.
His lips lifted faintly.
“You can stop pretending to be asleep now.”