Scarlett POV:
The rays of the morning sun filtered through the window, warm against my face as I turned restlessly in bed.
Gosh, I'm so tired now. No wonder I wasn't feeling sleepy last night.
I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, until finally I sat up with a groan. Shoving the duvet aside, I dragged myself out of bed and made my way to the bathroom.
A quick brush of my teeth, followed by a much-needed shower. It was refreshing—just what I needed.
Once I finished, I moisturized my skin, slipped on my undergarments, and walked over to the closet. After a moment's thought, I settled on a loose pair of milk-white trousers and a tight, white crop top. I slid into my bunny slippers and headed downstairs for breakfast.
Breakfast was served and I began eating . Surprisingly, Mr Grey came down today for breakfast.
What a miracle.
As he came down the stairs and his eyes landed on me, he froze. There was a split-second of hesitation—like he wasn't sure whether to approach or turn back.
After a few beats, he made his way to the breakfast table and sat down, eyes glued to his phone.
A maid quickly appeared, dishing out his food. Wait, what?
What! I am the baby here not him, my food should be dished out for me and not his- I chuckled at my silly thoughts. He is the boss baby.
I cleared my throat, forcing myself to speak. "Good morning," I said, trying to sound casual. But he didn't even look up. His fingers didn't stop tapping on his phone. No response.
How rude.
He finally put the phone down, continuing his meal with smooth, calculated precision. The way he ate was almost... graceful. Every motion, slow and tender, like he was performing some kind of art.
I suddenly felt self-conscious. Most guys I knew ate like wild dogs, scrambling for food like they were hunting. But Mr. Grey? He ate like he was on a magazine cover, doing a photoshoot for some high-end restaurant.
"Stop staring before you make me puke," he muttered, not even glancing at me.
My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I quickly lowered my head, focusing on my food.
He sipped some water, so clean and controlled. Then, with a small napkin, he wiped his mouth with surgical precision. Wait—he was already done? He barely even touched his bread, and the tea was still almost full.
I looked down at my plate. My second cup of tea. Seven slices of bread, two eggs.
He was already done, and I was still going.
Is he shy? Or is this just how he eats?
He pushed his chair back, preparing to stand, but before he could, I called out, "Um, Mr. Grey, are you done already?"
He shifted his gaze to me, those cold, unreadable eyes locking onto mine.
"Not everyone's a glutton like you, pony," he replied, his tone sharp as he stood up.
What... did he just call me a glutton?
I wanted to march up to him and yank that perfectly styled hair of his, but I stopped myself. Not today, Scarlett. For my own safety.
"Well, I like it that way," I muttered under my breath, shoving another piece of bread and egg into my mouth.
He paused, tilting his head to the side, and stared at me, his eyes narrowing. I shivered as I swallowed, praying I wouldn't choke.
"What did you say?" he asked, his voice low, almost like an order.
"Nothing," I replied quickly, shaking my head as I wiped my mouth, trying to look innocent.
"Better," he said simply, turning and heading upstairs.
I let out a shaky breath, gulping down a glass of water. Jeez, he's so scary—even in the morning.
After I finished my breakfast, I made my way back to my room. Bored out of my mind, I decided to call Mr. Damien. The phone rang a few times before going to voicemail.
Does this guy ever pick up on the first ring?
I tried calling a few more times before he finally answered, sounding groggy.
"Good morning, sir," I greeted, trying to keep my energy up.
"Morning," he replied, his voice still thick with sleep.
"Um, sir, I was wondering if Mr. Grey has any busy schedules today?" I asked, unsure if it was a weird question.
He cursed under his breath, and I froze. Did I say something wrong?
"Please don't tell me that's why you're calling," he said, his frustration clear.
I smiled sheepishly, even though he couldn't see me. "Do I look like his secretary or something? Ask him yourself, Scarlett. Bye."
"Wait, no, no, no, don't hang up!" I quickly replied.
"What?" he sounded so annoyed.
"I'm scared of Mr. Grey," I confessed in a quiet voice.
"Of what? It's not like he's going to bite you."
"Yeah, I know, but he might ki…" I started, but before I could finish, the line went dead.
Sighing, I tossed my phone aside and collapsed back onto the bed. This was ridiculous. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. Back home, I was always working—constantly running from one thing to the next. But here? Sitting around with nothing to do was way more boring than I ever imagined.
Just as I was about to lose myself in thoughts of escape, I heard a knock on the door. "Come in!" I shouted, too tired to be formal.
The door opened, and a maid stepped in. "The boss called for you," she said.
My heart skipped a beat.
The boss?
"Me?" I asked, pointing to myself, stunned.
"Yes, ma'am," she replied simply.
I nodded numbly as she left, and I quickly made my way to his room.
What did I do now?
I knocked on his door but didn't hear anything. I knocked again, a little louder this time, but still nothing.
I glanced around, unsure whether to wait or just go in. Slowly, I pushed the door open, only a crack, when his voice suddenly rang out, cold and sharp:
"Did I ask you to come in?"
I jerked back in shock, slamming the door shut instinctively. My heart raced as I touched my chest, trying to steady my breath.
That was terrifying.
I knocked again, but no response. He's definitely enjoying this.
After what felt like forever, he finally answered, his voice icy. "Come in."
I pushed the door open fully and stepped inside.
He was standing by the window, his hands shoved in his pockets, staring out at the view.
"Sir?" I said, trying to get his attention, but he didn't respond. He didn't even look at me.
The silence stretched between us like an unbearable weight.
"Sir, you sent for me," I said, trying to break the tension.
"I'm aware of that," he replied flatly, his back still to me.
I forced myself to stay calm, trying not to let my frustration show. If he was aware, then surely he knew I'd been standing here this whole time, waiting for him to acknowledge me.
"Jason Sinclair, right?" he said, his voice suddenly sharp, as if he had already moved past whatever thoughts had been keeping him silent. "That's your ex. Tell me what you know about him personally."
I froze.
Why the hell does he want to know about Jason?
Could… could Jason be involved too? My heart skipped a beat as a thousand thoughts flooded my mind.