Chapter 43: Mr. Rude is back home
Inside the dimly lit office, Daniel sat slouched in his chair, his gaze locked on the phone screen. The video Norma had sent him played on loop, grainy but clear enough to twist the knife in his chest.
It was Andrew.
His brother. The one he had loved most, second only to his mother. The one he had dreamed of building a life alongside—dreams that now felt hollow, stripped away in a single cruel stroke.
"You should have told us what you were going through, Andrew," Daniel muttered, his voice raw, hoarse with unshed emotion.
The corners of his eyes burned red, yet he refused to let the tears fall. His grip around the phone tightened until his knuckles whitened, his jaw clenched as though holding back a scream.
"But I will never forgive those who took you from us," he whispered, every syllable venomous, an oath carved into his very soul.
The office fell silent once more. Daniel remained there for some time, drowning in thoughts of his brother, until he finally pushed himself from the chair. It was late; by now, the house would be quiet, the family asleep.
On his way out, his mind lingered on what Wilsmith had told him—that Anna had not only been selected, but had managed to win his approval. For that, Daniel told himself, there was nothing to worry about. She must have returned home already.
But as he drove, his thoughts circled endlessly. No matter how hard he tried to anchor himself in Andrew’s memory, another image pushed its way through. Anna.
He had every reason to despise her. By blood and name, she belonged to the very people he loathed. He should have hated her, rejected her presence outright. And yet...
’Why can’t I?’
No matter how fiercely he tried to hold onto anger, his heart resisted when it came to her. As if hurting Anna was the one thing it refused to allow.
Exhaling sharply, Daniel dragged a hand over his face. "I shouldn’t let my mind wander," he muttered under his breath, forcing the thought aside.
The car soon pulled into the mansion gates, headlights washing over the manicured grounds. But the moment Daniel stepped out, his stride faltered.
Across the courtyard, a small commotion played out beneath the glow of the garden lamps.
"Madam, please—let me take you to your room. You can’t stay out here in the cold. The master will be home soon," Mariam pleaded, her voice edged with panic. There were two more people with her, the gaurd and her niece, Kira.
The housekeeper’s usually calm composure had unraveled; her hands twisted together, her pulse nearly visible in the frantic rise and fall of her chest. She had already been a wreck when Anna failed to return home at her usual time. Relief had only come when Anna called, saying she needed to be picked up.
At first Mariam hadn’t understood—until a guard came rushing in with news that left her reeling: the lady of the house was sprawled on a bench outside, drunk.
Now, faced with the sight herself, Mariam’s heart squeezed. She had been begging Anna to come inside for nearly half an hour, but the young woman sat stubbornly on the bench, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, a careless little smile tugging at her lips as if the world could no longer touch her.
No coaxing, no reasoning could move her.And Mariam could only pray Daniel wouldn’t arrive just yet.
But it was already too late.
A deep voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"What is going on here?"
Daniel’s presence shifted the air instantly. Every eye turned toward him as he strode forward, his expression unreadable, his aura heavy with authority. The guard quickly bowed and stepped back, relieved to retreat. Mariam looked moments away from fainting, wringing her hands helplessly, while Kira’s lips curved faintly—caught between worry and a quiet satisfaction at the chaos unfolding.
Daniel’s gaze swept the scene, cold and sharp, until it landed on Anna.
She was slouched against the bench, her hair a little messy, cheeks flushed pink from drink. At the sound of his voice, her head lolled upward and her eyes met his. Then, to everyone’s shock, a wide, silly smile spread across her face.
"Oh!" she called out, far too loudly. "Mr. Rude is back home!"
The words rang in the courtyard like a spark in dry wood.
Silence. Stunned faces.
Then Anna giggled—light, careless, entirely oblivious to the weight of her words. Her laughter tinkled in the night air, as if mocking the fear tightening around Mariam’s chest.
"Madam, please," Mariam begged, tears welling in her eyes. "Don’t say such things... you’ll upset the master."
Kira, however, smirked faintly at her aunt’s desperation. If Anna insisted on digging her own grave, Kira was more than happy to let her.
Daniel, though, didn’t react as they expected. Surprise flickered in his eyes at Anna’s brazen words. Rude? When have I ever been rude to her? The thought lingered, unsettling, before he quickly forced it aside.
"Master," Kira interjected smoothly, stepping forward as though eager to be useful. "We’ve been trying to get Madam back inside, but she refuses to listen."
Mariam shot her niece a sharp look, silently warning her to hold her tongue. But Kira stood firm, a hint of triumph glittering in her eyes.
Daniel regarded her briefly, his expression unreadable, then turned back to Anna. His voice, when it came, was steady and calm.
"Prepare some honey water for Madam," he instructed.
Kira blinked, startled by the unexpected order, but quickly bowed her head in obedience. As Daniel moved past her, her eyes darkened, her smirk fading into something sharper, colder.
"Mariam," Daniel added, his tone gentler now, "have the bed made ready for her."
"Yes, Master," the old woman replied at once, her relief palpable as she hurried off to carry out his orders.
And just like that, the courtyard shifted from chaos to a fragile calm, held firmly in Daniel’s control.
"Anna Clafford—who the hell comes home drunk?"
Daniel’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and unyielding. His eyes bore into his wife, who sat slouched and flushed, her expression betraying not a shred of remorse.
He had expected her to return right after the auditions, yet here she was—reeking of alcohol, completely wasted.
But instead of cowering at his displeasure, Anna lifted her head with defiance glinting in her glassy eyes. Her words slurred, but her spirit was unshaken.
"And who the hell are you," she shot back, her tone thick with intoxication, "to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do?"
Stumbling, she pushed herself upright, wavering on unsteady legs. Yet she forced herself to face him head-on, her blurry vision narrowing stubbornly on his figure.
"Did I ever ask you," she continued, breathless but fierce, "why you sneaked into my room drunk and collapsed on my bed? Then why should you question me?"
She puffed out her chest like a child caught misbehaving, as though her flimsy stance could shield her from him.
Daniel’s lips twitched. Her blunt reminder hit its mark. She had a way of dragging his mistakes into the light, disarming him with her shameless honesty before he could reprimand her. But he refused to let it rattle him—not this time.
"Where did you go," he asked, his tone lower now, "to get yourself wasted like this?"
Anna swayed, her knees threatening to buckle, and before she could fall, his hand shot out, steadying her. She chuckled at the contact, her laugh airy, unbothered.
"It started with one can," she said between giggles, recalling the night. "Just one beer. Then it became a contest. One, two, three... and by the time we finished—" she held up eight fingers clumsily, eyes squinting as if to count them again—"we lost track."
Her laughter filled the room, careless and bright, while Daniel’s jaw tightened, his grip on her arm firm, as though he wasn’t sure whether to shake her or hold her upright.
Daniel couldn’t make sense of half the things she was babbling, but from the slur of her words, one thing was clear—she hadn’t been drinking alone.
’Betty... or Shawn.’
The second name rolled through his mind like poison, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. His jaw tightened, his expression darkening as jealousy coiled in his chest.
"We were celebrating!" Anna suddenly squealed, her voice loud and bright, arms flinging wide as though she could embrace the entire night.
Her drunken joy only sharpened the sting in Daniel’s veins. Without a word, his hand shot out, closing firmly around her arm. Before she could react, he pulled her against him and swept her off her feet in one swift motion.
"Ah—!" Anna’s voice cut off in a startled yelp, her head spinning as the ground slipped away beneath her. For a moment, it almost felt like flying.
But Daniel didn’t flinch at her protest. His expression remained carved from stone, his steps brisk and unyielding as he carried her inside the house, ignoring the startled looks of the servants lingering in the shadows.