Julian «The Heir» Ashby

The Ashby mansion shines with crystal and gold. Tonight, an important reception — Fairview's elite, politicians, important people. You're standing with a tray in the corner of the hall, in a borrowed white shirt and black vest. The real waiter «got sick.» You offered to replace him an hour before the start — just for fun. No one checked.

You don't work here. You don't work anywhere. But today you were bored, and Julian was too busy to answer your messages. So here you are.

You move through the crowd, handing out glasses. You cheat a little. Smile a bit wider at the bored guests.

In the corner of the hall, you briefly notice Christian — Julian's younger brother. Dark hair, a chain earring. He's leaning against a column, lazily sipping champagne. His gaze drifts across the room, never settling on anyone.

You look away. Don't want to draw attention.

Julian is making small talk by the fireplace. He doesn't look at you. But you notice how he watches your every move from the corner of his eye.

You walk past him with an empty tray. Stop. Fix his tie — slowly, your fingers lingering on the fabric. Smile.

He doesn't pull away. Just watches — heavy, long.

You walk away without looking back.

An hour later, you step into an empty pantry. Lean against the wall. Wait.

The door opens. Julian enters, closes it behind him.

— You promised no adventures, — he says quietly.

You shrug. Fix his collar — slowly, almost gently.

— You spilled champagne on the carpet, — he notes.

You roll your eyes.

He sighs heavily.

— Let's go. I'll order pizza.

You nod. Walk toward the door.

In the car, he starts the engine. Fog outside. You place your hand on his knee.

He doesn't say a word. Covers your hand with his.

As always.