Chapter 2

The east parlor smelled of fresh coffee, warm pastries, and the faint metallic edge of tension that always lingered in the Ashcroft household.

Elias took his seat at the long mahogany table, rolling his shoulders beneath the charcoal waistcoat Adrian had chosen. It fit perfectly—just as it had in his memories. Across from him, his father, Lord Reginald Ashcroft, was already halfway through the morning papers, silver hair impeccably combed, expression carved from decades of cold calculation.

“You’re early,” Reginald noted without looking up. “That’s new.”

“Miracles happen,” Elias replied lightly, accepting the plate Adrian set before him. The butler’s gloved fingers brushed his for the briefest moment. Elias felt it like a spark.

Adrian stepped back seamlessly, refilling his father’s tea without a word. Always there. Always invisible to everyone else.

Elias cut into his eggs, forcing himself to eat despite the knot in his stomach. In his first life, he would have skipped breakfast entirely, already nursing a hangover and snapping at the servants. Today he ate like a man who knew how quickly everything could vanish.

His younger sister, Cecilia, swept in late, her golden curls bouncing. At nineteen, she was the family’s shining jewel—beautiful, ambitious, and utterly blind to the knives aimed at their backs.

“Brother, you look almost respectable this morning,” she teased, taking her seat. “Did hell freeze over while I slept?”

“Careful, Cece. I might start behaving just to spite you.” He flashed her the old crooked grin, but his eyes were scanning the room. The footman by the door. The maid dusting the sideboard. Any of them could be the first leak.

Adrian moved silently along the table, adjusting silverware, pouring juice. Elias tracked every motion. The butler’s posture was flawless, yet Elias now noticed the way his left hand occasionally flexed, as if it ached from writing too many letters or carrying too many burdens.

After breakfast, Reginald summoned him to the study.

The heavy oak door clicked shut behind them. Sunlight slanted through tall windows, illuminating ledgers and correspondence spread across the desk.

“You’ve been avoiding your responsibilities long enough,” his father began. “The gala tonight is critical. The Duke of Valmont will be there, along with several investors. I expect you to be charming, not chaotic.”

Elias leaned against the desk, arms crossed. In the past, this conversation had ended with him storming out and getting spectacularly drunk. Not today.

“I’ll behave,” he said. “But Father… have you reviewed the security for the estate lately? The western gate has been suspiciously quiet.”

Reginald’s eyes narrowed. “Since when do you concern yourself with such matters?”

“Since I decided I’d rather not see our name dragged through the mud.” Elias kept his voice casual, but his mind raced. The assassins would enter through the western gardens tonight. He remembered the screams. The fire.

His father waved a dismissive hand. “Speak with Vale about it if you’re truly worried. That man notices everything.”

He does, Elias thought. More than you know.

He found Adrian in the main hall, directing two maids with quiet efficiency. The butler turned at his approach, expectant.

“Master Elias?”

“The western gate,” Elias said without preamble. “Double the guards tonight. Quietly. And I want you close during the gala.”

Adrian’s hazel eyes sharpened. “Is there something I should know, my lord?”

Elias stepped closer, lowering his voice. Servants moved around them, but the space between him and Adrian felt strangely private. “Let’s just say I have a feeling. A very strong one. Humor me, Mister Butler.”

For a heartbeat, Adrian studied him with that unreadable gaze. Then he inclined his head. “As you wish.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of preparations. Elias threw himself into the role of the reformed heir—reviewing guest lists, suggesting adjustments to the menu, even sitting through a tedious fitting for his evening attire. All while watching Adrian orchestrate the household like a shadow conductor.

By late afternoon, the manor buzzed with anticipation. Crystal chandeliers sparkled. Fresh flowers filled every vase. And beneath it all, Elias felt the clock ticking.

He cornered Adrian in the library as the sun began to set, the room bathed in warm amber light.

The butler was returning a heavy tome to its shelf, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. A rare glimpse of the man beneath the uniform.

“You should rest before the guests arrive,” Elias said from the doorway.

Adrian turned, startled for once. “There is still much to—”

“I’m not asking as your master right now.” Elias crossed the room, stopping near the large oak table where he’d once spent nights drinking alone. “You look like you haven’t slept properly in weeks. Let someone else handle the final checks.”

Adrian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It is my duty to ensure everything is perfect. Especially tonight.”

“Duty again.” Elias smiled, but it was softer this time. He reached out, straightening the butler’s already impeccable collar. His fingers lingered. “One day I’m going to make you say something selfish.”

Adrian froze under the touch. His breathing remained steady, but a faint flush colored the tips of his ears. “My lord… this is highly irregular.”

“I know.” Elias dropped his hand, stepping back with that familiar reckless grin. “Consider it an order, then. Take an hour for yourself.”

He left before Adrian could protest, heart pounding harder than it had any right to.

Night fell.

The gala began with music and laughter, the grand ballroom glittering with jewels and silk. Elias played his part—charming smiles, witty remarks, dancing with daughters of influential lords while keeping one eye on the shadows.

Adrian stood near the wall, directing footmen with subtle gestures. Their eyes met across the room more than once. Each time, something unspoken passed between them.

At half past eleven, Elias felt it—the shift in the air.

He slipped away from the crowd and found Adrian in the corridor leading toward the western wing.

“Something’s wrong,” Elias said urgently. “Stay with me.”

“My lord, the guests—”

“Forget the guests.” He grabbed Adrian’s wrist, gloved fingers warm beneath his own. “That’s an order.”

Adrian searched his face, confusion breaking through the perfect mask for the first time. “What is happening?”

Before Elias could answer, the first scream tore through the manor.

Shouts. Breaking glass. The clash of steel.

The assassins had arrived.

Elias’s grip tightened. His crooked grin returned, fierce and determined.

“Stay behind me, Mister Butler.”

Adrian’s eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away.