Page 68 of Bid For Me
I glance at Seb, who looks like he’s barely holding himself together. His jaw clenches, but he nods. “Fine,” he says tersely.
“Good.” Alexander rises from the table, smoothing down his suit jacket. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Remember, appearances are everything. Don’t disappoint me.”
With that, he strides out of the room, leaving an oppressive silence in his wake.
I don’t dare look at Seb, my emotions are too raw to face him right now. The humiliation of Alexander’s words burns in my chest, and I grip my fork tightly to keep my hands from shaking.
“I’m sorry,” Seb says finally, his voice quiet but sincere.
“It’s not your fault,” I reply, though the words feel hollow.
“It is,” he insists, his frustration evident. “I should’ve known he’d pull something like this. He’s testing us.”
“Well, we’d better pass the test,” I say, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.
Seb sighs, leaning back in his chair and running a hand over his face. “I’ll take the couch. You won’t have to worry about me.”
I nod, though the thought of sharing even the same space as him feels overwhelming. “Thanks,” I say quietly.
We sit in silence for a moment before Seb pushes back his chair and stands. “Come on,” he says, his tone soft. “I’ll show you to our room.”
The walk to the bedroom suite is overwhelming with everything that the mansion has to offer, my thoughts too chaotic to focus on anything specific right now. I guess I’ll have time to make myself at home later anyway.
When Seb opens the door, I step inside, taking in the opulent room. The massive bed dominates the space, its dark, luxurious bedding a stark contrast to the sterile white walls. The room feels more like a stage than a sanctuary, a place designed for appearances rather than comfort.
Seb lingers in the doorway, watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. “I’ll let you get settled,” he says after a moment. “I’ll...be out of your way.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. As the door closes softly behind him, I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart.
This is my life now. A life of appearances and performances, of navigating a world I don’t understand and trying to survive under the weight of expectations that aren’t my own.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, staring at the room around me. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. But I know one thing for certain: I can’t let them see me break.
The morning light filters through the tall windows of the bedroom, soft and golden. My new home is undeniably beautiful, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m a stranger in a place I don’t belong. After finishing unpacking, I find myself restless. I need to escape this room, this gilded prison that feels more like a set than a space meant to be lived in.
Pulling on a cardigan, I step into the hallway. The mansion is eerily quiet, the kind of silence that swallows sound and leavesyou hyper-aware of every creak of the floorboards. I half expect to find Seb waiting somewhere, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
I wander aimlessly for what feels like an eternity, each corridor blending into the next with its ornate furniture, gilded mirrors, and opulent light fixtures. My heels click against the marble floors, a sound that feels too loud in the emptiness.
Finally, I catch sight of a figure ahead – an older woman with graying hair neatly pinned back, carrying an armful of pristine linens. Relief washes over me.
“Excuse me,” I say, quickening my pace to catch up with her.
She turns, her face softening with a kind smile. “You must be Miss Elle,” she says warmly, her tone brisk yet friendly.
“That’s me,” I reply, slightly breathless. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I seem to have gotten a bit lost.”
Her smile widens. “It’s no bother, dear. This house has a way of doing that to people. I’m Mrs. Murray, the housekeeper. Would you like me to show you around?”
“I’d appreciate that,” I say sincerely.
Mrs. Murray launches into the tour with a practiced efficiency, pointing out the key areas of the mansion. The formal reception room, with its towering ceilings and antique chandeliers, is followed by the ballroom, a cavernous space with polished floors that gleam under the light streaming through arched windows. We pass the family wing, the expansive kitchen, and the private study, each room more extravagant than the last.
“It’s all so...overwhelming,” I admit as we stop in front of a pair of intricately carved double doors.
Mrs. Murray chuckles softly. “It takes some getting used to. But I thought you might appreciate this room.” She pushes open the doors, and my breath catches.
The library is nothing short of breathtaking. Two stories of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stretch upward, connected by awrought-iron spiral staircase. A pair of overstuffed armchairs sit near a large window, which bathes the room in warm, natural light. The scent of aged paper and polished wood fills the air. The only thing lacking is an inglenook fireplace, which would make it sheer perfection in my eyes.