After the unsettling events of the evening, Malachi made his way back to his room within the estate, his footsteps echoing softly in the dimly lit corridors. Upon entering, he gracefully sank onto the bed, exhaling a calculated sigh of feigned exhaustion. He sprawled there, his posture a picture of weariness, yet his mind was anything but at rest. Malachi was acutely aware of the ever-watchful eyes that monitored his every move, invisible threads of scrutiny woven throughout the noble’s domain.No sooner had he settled than the door creaked open, revealing a maid pushing a cart laden with refreshments: a pitcher of fresh orange juice, an assortment of fruits, and an array of snacks. She approached with a quiet efficiency, placing the cart beside him with a deferential bow before turning to leave, her movements practiced and unobtrusive.Malachi’s gaze followed her departure, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, appreciating the predictable routine of hospitality—or perhaps, su