Chapter 85: Bernice & Sebastian

Bernice pressed her ear against the thick, solid door, her breath shallow as if she could somehow hear freedom on the other side. The wood was expensive—she could tell from the weight of it, the way it swallowed sound.

She had already tried every other exit in the house. Doors. Windows. Even the balcony doors that looked promising until she realized they were secured with something far more sophisticated than a simple lock.

She could open the window in her room, but only just enough to let air in. The moment she tested it wider, just experimentally, it had taken less than a minute for him to appear.

With that same infuriating calm.

“Miss Watson, I’m sorry. You’re forbidden to leave.”

He never raised his voice. Never frowned. Never looked irritated. If anything, he looked… apologetic. Which somehow made it worse. Bernice had heard that exact sentence, in that exact measured tone, at least fifteen times in a single day.

It was as though someone had programmed him with three polite responses and set him loose to guard her like an overpaid security system in a tailored suit.

She was “free,” he had said, to roam the hallways, explore any room in the mansion, use the library, sit in the lounges, even wander through the indoor gallery—so long as she did not step outside the building. He had delivered that explanation with the same robotic composure, hands folded neatly behind his back, as if he were reciting house rules at a luxury hotel rather than describing a gilded cage.

And when she had asked, very reasonably, she might add, for some fresh air, he had escorted her not to the garden outside, but to a glass-enclosed green room inside the sprawling mansion. The space was breathtaking, filled with exotic plants she had only ever seen in documentaries. Vines climbed toward the ceiling. Rare orchids bloomed in impossible colors. The air was humid and rich with soil and life.

She had stood there in stunned silence.

So this was how the wealthy lived? Indoor forests? Private ecosystems? She had grown up thinking a small balcony with two potted plants was impressive. Here, they had recreated half a rainforest indoors simply because they could.

And yet none of it felt like freedom.

What confused her even more was the grandfather. The old man treated her with unsettling warmth, studying her as though she were a precious heirloom instead of an unwilling guest.

What exactly was going on?

Bernice stepped back from the hidden door in her room, the one concealed behind an elegant wall panel, almost invisible unless you knew where to look. She had discovered it by accident, fingers tracing along the molding in frustration. Unlike the other exits, this one felt… different.

This door could be her escape.

A return to her ordinary routine life. Morning coffee in a chipped mug. Bus rides. Deadlines. Noise. Freedom.

She glanced around the luxurious room once more and exhaled slowly.

Remington. All of them were strange. Perhaps breathing in too many dollar bills had deprived them of oxygen at some point, permanently altering their judgment. That was the only explanation Bernice could come up with that didn’t spiral into wild conspiracy theories.

…Though.

She hesitated.

That robotic man—her ever-polite jailer—was… undeniably handsome. Annoyingly so. There was something about him—an understated charm that lingered at the edge of her awareness no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

She clicked her tongue at herself and tightened her grip on the concealed handle.

If this door opened… she was leaving.

No indoor rainforest. No polite warden in a tailored suit. No mysterious, overly-invested family.

Just her life. Her routine. Serving Dr. Catherine Preston and getting back to the predictable rhythm she understood.

Maybe the heavens still liked her a little, because the door was not locked.

Bernice slipped through and gently closed it behind her, fixing her glasses.

And then she froze.

Was that… water?

Do they have an indoor waterfall too?

She squinted into the dim space ahead. The room was dark, expansive, and far too large to be anything ordinary. At first glance, it looked like a corridor… then a room… then perhaps…

A closet?

No. That would be ridiculous. This space alone was larger than her entire family home.

The soft sound of running water suddenly stopped.

Bernice swallowed and forced herself to step forward.

As if the room had been waiting for her, the overhead lights flickered to life… one by one, warm golden light spilling into the space, revealing polished wood, long rows of tailored suits, shelves of shoes, watches, and ties arranged with obsessive precision.

It was, in fact… a closet, Bernice observed, her nose squinting as she adjusted her glasses.

A closet large enough to house a small kingdom.

Bernice held her breath. Definitely a man’s closet. Expensive. Immaculate. Intimidating. And… weird… Does that suit has leaves stuck to it? Never mind!

She slowly began to retreat, ready to slip back into her own side of the world before anyone noticed.

“Who’s there?”

The voice was low. Deep. Familiar.

Bernice froze.

She was not answering that. No one noticed her—that had always been her greatest skill. Her superpower. She was not about to lose it now.

She turned, trying to slip out as silently as she had come… and suddenly a strong hand caught her wrist.

“It’s you, Miss Watson…”

Of course, it was him.

Bernice refused to answer. She tried to pull forward, to twist her wrist free at the same time, when she felt something in her hand—soft, damp, loosely bunched.

A towel.

Her stomach dropped.

And because she was, apparently, cursed with curiosity at the worst possible moments, she turned…just to confirm… and immediately wished she hadn’t.

There he was.

Wet. Lean. Entirely unbothered by his complete lack of clothing.

And the towel… was in her hand.

“Oops—!” The sound that left her throat was half apology, half strangled shriek. “Sorry—I’ll just—”

Her hands shook as she tried to hand the towel back without looking directly at him. Without thinking. Without breathing.

She turned to flee… and immediately slipped on the thin layer of water pooled across the marble floor.

In a desperate, undignified attempt to stop herself from falling, she grabbed the nearest solid thing she could reach.

Unfortunately… that solid thing was his leg.

For one suspended second, time itself seemed to pause.

Bernice, clutching his leg.

Him, looking down at her.

The universe, undoubtedly laughing.

“I am not giving up,” she muttered under her breath, dignity hanging by a thread as she tried to push herself up again, fixing her crooked glasses.

She slipped.

Again.

And this time… he came down with her.

Bernice watched in slow, horrifying clarity as he fell toward her… every line of him, every drop of water catching the light…

And she… very sincerely… wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

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