Faye Vaughn didn't receive a text back from Wyatt Hawthorne.
Instead, she got a discreet text from the butler: "The young master had us throw out the late-night snack."
Faye Vaughn replied, "Of course he did... Uncle York, thank you for telling me."
She had lived with the Hawthorne family for three years. The second and third young masters weren't particularly fond of her, but the butler, Uncle York, treated her well.
He said she reminded him of his granddaughter from the countryside—a clever little pixie.
Faye Vaughn sighed in distress.
'Even a clever pixie can't figure out how to appease the eldest young master.'
'Being nice, playing the victim—neither had worked.'
Faye Vaughn was wracking her brain, her head throbbing, when the bedroom door swung open.
Wyatt Hawthorne strode in, his handsome face devoid of any warmth as he asked coldly, "Miss Vaughn, who gave you permission to lie on my bed?"
