Sebastian held the door open for his Mistress as she walked out of the toy shop. The chime of the bell echoed in the air for a moment before the door swung shut behind him, and he stepped into the hurly-burly of the street.

He paused, glancing back at the Funtom storefront sign.

It seemed well-kept, at least by human standards. Its surface was smooth and its colours vibrant, but he noticed the slight fading at the edges and small, barely visible cracks marring the lettering. Minor imperfections that a human eye would have no chance of catching, but to a demon, they stood out like glaring flaws.

With a silent sigh, he made a mental note to arrange for its re-painting. Such blemishes would not do.

Then, he followed his Mistress who was already wading through the throng of pedestrians.

The air in London today was unusually clear. With spring creeping in, coal usage had eased, lifting the heavy smog that usually hung over the city. For once, the sky was a bright blue, and sunlight spilt down in golden streaks, lighting up the cobblestone streets and stone buildings.

It was, by all accounts, a rare, fine day—though to judge by the way her little fists clenched at her sides, his Mistress didn't see it that way. The agreeable weather had drawn many Londoners out of their homes.

Her steps were long and brisk. So eager to get to their carriage as quickly as she could on her still-short legs.

A young girl stood on the pavement, gawking at his Mistress with wonderstruck eyes. The kind of look one might reserve for a porcelain doll perched behind glass, full of admiration and perhaps a touch of envy towards the pretty, older girl.

Sebastian's lips curled into a smirk as he turned his gaze to his Mistress. She certainly had a way of drawing attention.

Especially now that her clothing was fitting properly. The royal blue of her dress set off her pale complexion and brought out the icy brilliance of her single cerulean eye. Her slate hair was swept into a low chignon, with soft ringlets framing her face and bouncing slightly as she walked. Her posture was faultless, her chin held high with an imperiousness that came naturally to her.

And heads did turn.

Whenever this happened, a smug sense of satisfaction stirred in his chest. It meant he was doing his job well.

Every part of her appearance, from the pristine fabric of her dress to the gloss of her hair, was his doing. He chose her clothes, made sure they were spotless, perfect. He brushed her hair himself every morning, careful to keep it healthy and shining. He drew her baths with oils to keep her skin soft and flawless.

He thrived on compliments. And every time his Mistress was praised for her appearance or manners, it was like a pat on his back.

Demons were creatures of pride, after all. But pride often walked hand in hand with possessiveness.

The attention she received, even at her tender age, often rankled him. The lingering stares. The whispered remarks. The envy from women and the open leers from men.

It nearly offended him, truly.

At times, he entertained the thought of locking her away in the mansion, hidden from everyone. To keep her solely for himself. For his eyes. For his pleasure. But, of course, such fantasies would remain just that. He was no fool.

His Mistress, of course, appeared entirely oblivious to the attention. Or perhaps she noticed and didn't care. She walked on, undeterred, her focus fixed firmly on the waiting carriage at the end of the street.

Her hand slipped into his as he helped her into the carriage. Small. Delicate. He held it for only a second before she snatched it away. Her chin tilted upwards, lips twisting into that spoiled little pout of hers, and she shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

Ah, yes. The glare. Her most common expression these days. Since that night in her bedchamber.

She barely spoke to him now, save for barking orders, and acted as though his very presence was an affront.

Naturally, this was to be expected. He had overstepped—pushed her too much, too soon. He should have known better. Should have eroded her defences carefully, gently. Like water wearing away stone over time, not with brute force.

If only the demon's patience weren't also slowly wearing thin…

Still, he had tried to make amends. Lavish desserts. Her favourite meals. The magazine with the short story that she had come to like. He'd even tossed Finny out of the greenhouse to grow her beloved white roses and scatter them everywhere around the manor.

Only for her to ignore it all and continue treating him like a leper.

The petulant brat…

"That sign above the shop," her voice snapped him out of his thoughts, "it's worn out, isn't it?"

His brows twitched. When had she noticed? He hadn't seen her glance at it. Were the flaws more glaring than he'd realised, perhaps?

"Do you think so, my Lady?" he replied smoothly. "It looked fine to me, though I confess, the colours have faded a touch. A repainting might not go amiss—"

"Arrange for it," she cut in, tone as cold as her gaze. "Today."

He inclined his head, suppressing a smirk. "Consider it done, my Lady."

Cielle almost tripped when she stepped out of the carriage.

Monocular vision wasn't something to be trifled with. Especially if one refused an offered helping hand of their butler.

For days, she'd seethed with anger, then cooled into an icy disdain. And then... then came Sebastian's bootlicking. She could practically hear the gears turning in Sebastian's head as he schemed up new and new ideas to present as an olive branch. New and new gestures as peace offerings.

Little did he know, the more he doted on her, the less inclined she felt to officially forgive him. Her initial fury had waned, but in its place bloomed a vicious, malicious joy.

It was delicious, watching him lower himself. Head bowed. Tail tucked between his legs. A demon reduced to debasing himself, all for her forgiveness and attention.

Sit. Fetch. Roll over.

Yes, Sebastian, do tricks for me. Crawl. Grovel like the cur you are…

Sebastian opened the main door for her to walk in. Once they were in, he took her coat and her hat.

"I shall prepare some tea, yes?" he said, his tone more a statement than a question.

She didn't bother to reply as he led her to the drawing room. Her mind had already conjured an image of her ideal evening. Seated by the fire, a good book in one hand, a steaming cup of tea in the other.

Finally, home. Finally, some rest—

"Cielle! There you are!"

Her thoughts were mercilessly cut off when a blond, young man stepped into her field of vision.

"Edward?" she blurted. "What are you— I mean, I didn't expect you to be here."

Edward shifted slightly, his shoulders hunching in that telltale way she'd come to recognise. Nervous. Awkward.

"I know, I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced. There was… an incident at Weston, and the principal gave us leave for the rest of the week. And Lizzy mentioned you'd wrapped up your investigation for the Queen, so we thought it'd be a good time to visit."

"We?" she asked. "Did Lizzy come with you?"

If this is another blasted ball, I'll—

"Elizabeth is visiting a friend," a third voice spoke up, and in that moment Cielle knew what was Edward so nervous about. It belonged to a tall, stern woman who suddenly appeared in the room. "I'm sure, she will arrive as well, once she's made aware we are here."

"Aunt Francis. You're here too," remarked Cielle, very redundantly. She could almost hear Sebastian smirking as he stood behind her.

Very few people in her life had the power to stir anything more than mild boredom, perhaps annoyance on a good day. Even fewer could make her anxious. And even those were nowhere near enough to stir more than a few uncomfortable flutters in the pit of her stomach.

Aunt Francis, however… Francis Midford was a category of her own. Even though Cielle was a countess who ran her own estate, performed her duties as the Queen's Watchdog and built a successful company, a single withering glance from this woman was enough to strip her of every shred of confidence.

"You're as observant as ever, my dear niece," said Aunt Francis, lifting her eyebrows.

Cielle felt her face turning red.

"The Young Mistress is simply caught off guard by your unexpected visit, Lady Midford," Sebastian chimed in, voice oozing with artificial sweetness. "Your spontaneous presence is indeed a delightful deviation from the norm."

"Of course, I'm here. Someone must take on the responsibility of chaperoning these two when there's no one competent in this manor to do so." She shot him a condescending look and turned to her son. "Unlike that time when you snuck off to come here alone, am I right, young man?"

Edward slouched further, his face turning a deep shade of pink.

"I just wanted to— We weren't alone. There was…" His words faltered as his gaze fell on Sebastian, still towering behind Cielle. The obvious dislike in Edward's eyes made Cielle let out a soft, exasperated sigh.

"Lizzy went with me," muttered Edward at last.

"And that was supposed to be a chaperone? Your fourteen-year-old sister?" Aunt Francis' pale brows climbed higher up her forehead.

"…threw us a ball…" he muttered.

"Speak clearly in front of your fiancée."

His face was now so red it looked like his head might explode at any moment. "She threw us a ball! We danced!"

"Well, you'll have another opportunity when we attend that gathering tomorrow."

"Gathering? What gathering?!" Cielle half-hissed, no longer bothering to conceal her bewilderment. "Aunt Francis, you are both welcome to stay. But that gathering, whatever that is, is out of the question. I have work to do—"

"I'm sure, you can spare a day or two to spend some time with your fiancé and your future mother-in-law," interposed Francis, settling further into her chair as if it were her throne. "Such bonds must be nurtured to grow into strong unions, after all."

"We're family! There already is a union—"

"And you..." Francis suddenly turned her steely gaze on Sebastian, her bony finger stabbing in his direction like a harpoon. He almost flinched. "Are you just going to stand there like an imbecile or will you go and prepare our tea?"

"Of course, please do excuse me," he responded and hurried to exit the room.

"My, what an excuse of a butler," grumbled Francis, rolling her eyes. "Which reminds me, Cielle," she began as she bore her eyes into hers; now it was Cielle's turn to flinch. "I've gathered many excellent references for potential candidates to replace that degenerate."

After that, Aunt Francis insisted on going hunting. And challenged Cielle to a competition. Again. Which ended in a tie. Again.

She and Aunt Francis agreed they could not leave it at that, but then Cielle managed to fall from her horse. Just as she was about to climb back into the saddle, Edward intervened, putting an end to their games and urged them to return to the manor.

And Elizabeth arrived the very next morning, just as Aunt Francis had predicted.

And she was a handful, just as Cielle had predicted.

Upon discovering that her mother and brother had gone to visit her dear cousin, Elizabeth was eager to join them. And once Elizabeth learned of the evening party they would attend, the intensity of her excitement almost shattered Cielle's eardrums.

If Cielle had harboured even a minuscule hope of answering at least some letters yesterday, it was minced into tiny pieces and flushed down the proverbial toilet today.

The usually quiet halls were constantly filled with Elizabeth's chirping and Aunt Francis' barking. The most egregious mix of sounds.

Though the mother and her daughter were the polar opposites, they were equally as demanding. Elizabeth treated Cielle like her personal dress-up doll, while Aunt Francis had Sebastian and other servants dashing around the manor, catering to her every whim.

Since morning, Cielle's head had felt as though it had been thrust into a beehive, and by evening, she felt as though she might go and drown in a pond.

The only one who didn't bother her was Edward, who kept to himself as always—occasionally scolding his sister and sending Cielle apologetic glances as he did so.

Edward never said much; as a child, he had been quiet and kind-hearted. Now, as an adolescent, he was still the same. Those who didn't know them well would say they were cut from the same cloth: Edward and Cielle. Both reserved and distant. Those who did know them would say they were like dusk and dawn—similar, but also different. One gentle and the other sharp.

The perfect match, they would say.

Especially Elizabeth, who had spent the entire day gushing about how excited she was to see her brother and cousin dance together again, like a couple—much to Edward's embarrassment, as he blushed and muttered, and Cielle's annoyance, as she rolled her eyes and muttered.

Now, she was rolling her eyes and muttering too, as she was preparing for departure, but was cut off when she heard a soft knock on the door to her bedchamber. Without waiting for her to let him in, Sebastian entered.

"Do you require assistance, my Lady?"

"What are you doing here?" she sputtered, taken aback. "You're not supposed to be in here. If Aunt Francis saw you strutting in, she'd haul you out by the hair and toss you into the nearest gutter."

"Nobody saw me, my Lady," he reassured her with an easy smile. "And besides, you're not intending to dress yourself, are you?"

Cielle eyed the elaborate attire spread out on the bed—layer upon layer of lace and frills, a veritable maze of buttons and ties.

"No, of course not," she admitted, shaking her head in resignation. "I was about to summon Mey-Rin. It's always Mey-Rin when we have guests. If anybody finds out—"

"Nobody will find out, my Lady," he asserted, the rust-brown eyes locked with hers. "I wouldn't let that happen."

She averted her gaze. "Fine."

He stepped towards the bed and grabbed the first piece of garment.

"Mey-Rin can barely dress herself, let alone fitting you into this evening gown," he quipped. "She'd swap your dress skirt for a petticoat and tie your laces into a knot that would baffle even a seasoned sailor."

A small chuckle slipped out before Cielle could stop it. "Wouldn't that send Aunt Francis into a proper rage?"

"Positively," he agreed. "Though I must admit, I'd share Lady Midford's frustration on this particular matter."

"At least you and she have some common ground," she remarked dryly.

Sebastian cinched the corset tightly around her waist. He then reached for a camisole to slip over her head.

"You'd be surprised how many people you might have things in common with, even if you don't get along," he mused, tying off the laces. "Take you and your aunt, for instance. You two share more than you think."

"Are you trying to insult me?" she asked, giving him a pointed look.

"Oh dear, not at all, my Lady," he refuted. "You both have that stubborn streak. It's... admirable, in a way. Although, it may explain why you're constantly at odds with each other."

"I suppose it's inevitable when two equally obstinate people share a space," she murmured.

He stooped to adjust the layers of the embroidered petticoats before securing the waistband of her skirt.

Just when she thought the conversation had ended, he spoke again. "It might also explain why Sir Edward is so taken with you. He appears to be the type who favours a lady who can take charge. And, I dare say, you remind him of his mother in some ways."

"What?" she gasped, with shock and indignation. "Excuse me, but that sounds dangerously like you're suggesting my fiancé is some sort of degenerate."

"My, are you intentionally misunderstanding me today, my Lady?" he sighed with exaggerated exasperation, pulling out a stool from her dressing table and gesturing for her to sit.

"Just what on earth do you expect when you make such a preposterous remark?" she huffed as she sank onto the stool, her hair swishing around her face. "Besides, Edward has been complaining about her since he was six. If anything, my supposed resemblance should have him bolting in the opposite direction."

He picked up a brush and began working through her hair. "Well, they say humans are drawn to the familiar. Would it be so outlandish to think that could apply to who they choose as a partner?"

"I don't think that's accurate," she mumbled.

She imagined Edward's and her predecessor's appearance and compared the two.

The late Earl had always been referred to as tall, dark, and handsome. Edward possessed his own brand of attractiveness, with the fair beauty typical of the Midford lineage, and though he wasn't tall yet, he had the promise of height, but then…

Then there was the memory of Vincent Phantomhive, as clear as always; the way he would sit in his blue chair as if it were a throne. The distant look in his teal eyes and that small, enigmatic smile.

"Edward is nothing like my predecessor," she concluded as she met Sebastian's gaze in the mirror.

He said nothing in reply. Instead, he gave her a small smile and continued to comb through her hair.

The ride by carriage was long and tedious. Two hours were less than blink of an eye for a demon, but with the Midfords it felt like an eternity.

Lady Elizabeth's incessant giggling filled the air, while Lady Francis rattled off a stream of anecdotes about grand parties, and Sir Edward was throwing mistrustful looks in Sebastian's way.

The only thing that offered Sebastian any measure of satisfaction was the way his Mistress squirmed in her seat by the window.

How sore she must have been—dragged through the woods by her despotic aunt, then held hostage in her own closet by her equally demanding cousin, and now subjected to the jostling of the carriage on the way to a gathering she had no desire to attend in the first place.

But despite having to endure their company as well, Sebastian found little cause for complaint about the Midfords' unannounced arrival.

In the span of a day and a half, the girl had become so frazzled and exhausted that the rift between them seemed to fade into the background. In comparison, Sebastian was simply the lesser of two evils.

So, as far as he was concerned, the Midfords could stay as long as they pleased.

The carriage came to a halt before a grand villa.

In the window, Sebastian caught sight of his reflection—his hair slicked back as it always was in Lady Francis' presence. Like that he would look no different than any toff in the room; he much preferred his usual, more distinctive hairstyle.

"Mind your manners all of you," said Lady Francis, looking over the three children opposite her. "Elizabeth, keep your voice down. Edward, watch your posture. Cielle, wipe that scowl off your face. And do not roll your eyes at your aunt, young lady. And you…" She fixed Sebastian with a pointed stare. He raised an eyebrow in response. "No hogging the limelight tonight, if you're physically capable of such restraint."

His Mistress scoffed; she truly had more in common with her aunt than she thought.

Sebastian gave the woman his most dashing smile. Not to charm but to spite. "I promise I shall lay low, Lady Midford. After all, I'm merely here to support my Young Mistress."

Cielle scoffed again, while Lady Francis shot him a look that bristled with contempt. Almost as venomous as the one from his Mistress. Almost.

He pushed the door open and stepped outside. The crisp evening air felt like a cool balm in his nostrils, after hours in the cramped carriage with another four humans. Breathing was a small pleasure the demon liked to indulge in, even though he never needed it.

To his surprise, Lady Francis accepted his helping hand as she emerged, though her glare remained firmly in place.

His Mistress gathered the folds of her mauve-coloured skirts, and Sebastian extended his hand towards her. She was about to take it, but the Midford boy offered his own hand rather desperately, bumping into Sebastian's elbow as he did so.

The blond's hand trembled, silently urging the girl to take it.

She glanced at Sebastian for a split second, arching her eyebrow slightly, but then clasped the helping hand of her fiancé and descended from the carriage.

The boy's face lit up with a starry-eyed grin, his cheeks flushed. Sebastian had to stifle a laugh.

Oh, you poor, deluded runt, he thought and helped Lady Elizabeth instead.

With everyone safely out of the carriage, Sebastian strode towards the building, already alive with laughter and chatter. He hoped this evening would be eventful.

Cielle had hoped that her aunt's obsession with punctuality would work in her favour for once, and they'd arrive earlier than most—allowing her to adapt at least.

But, as usual, that hope was dashed. The place was already brimming with people. Groups of noble ladies and gentlemen were scattered around, their eyes darting towards the newcomers like hawks spotting prey.

She hated these events. The fake politeness, pointless chit-chat, the ever-present risk of Cielle bumping into people due to her one-eyed vision. And then there were the intrusive stares.

The air was thick with perfumes and colognes, clashing with the acrid smell of cigars and cigarettes, even though Cielle was pretty sure there must have been a separate smoking parlour in this house. Her physician always insisted that the fumes were "beneficial" for her asthma, but Cielle wasn't entirely convinced. If anything, it only seemed to worsen the tightening in her chest.

"Quite peculiar decorations," whispered Elizabeth in her ear.

Cielle scanned the room, nodding in reluctant agreement. Lizzy wasn't wrong.

Urns, old coins, scrolls covered in illegible hieroglyphs, and a relief depicting scenes from ancient Egyptian mythology—all of it littered around them like a museum exhibit.

"It seems our host is a bit of an egyptomaniac," said Sebastian, putting an emphasis on a bit.

"Who?" asked Elizabeth.

"A person who enjoys robbing ancient tombs and temples, then proudly displays the stolen goods like a goblin," deadpanned Cielle. "Or more commonly, they pay someone else to do the dirty work and skip right to the bragging part."

At that, she was immediately squashed by one of Aunt Francis' withering glances. Not the worst one yet, but just enough for Cielle to baulk internally.

"Do you think these are originals?" asked Edward, pointing to a row of statues—Egyptian gods, cats and pharaohs.

"Difficult to say," she replied.

"Ah, Francis! Good evening!" A stout woman strode toward them with the energy of a marching soldier.

There was something vaguely familiar about her to Cielle, but it took a moment for the recognition to click.

"Good to see you, Evelyn," replied Francis, her smile unusually warm—too warm for someone who could freeze a person with a glance.

"It's been ages! How have you been? My, how they've grown. Aren't they just darling?" the woman—Evelyn—gushed as she looked at the two Midford siblings.

Elizabeth beamed while Edward squirmed uncomfortably as if trying to shrink into himself.

Then Evelyn's gaze landed on Cielle, and her eyes went wide with recognition. At that exact moment, Cielle knew who she was.

"Lady Phantomhive! Francis mentioned you'd be here, but I just couldn't believe it. What an absolute honour to have you as our guest!"

"Good evening, Mrs Ashworth," said Cielle with a brief curtsy. "I simply couldn't resist the chance to see all these artefacts."

"Well, you know James. He's like a magpie, always drawn to shiny things," said Ashworth, shaking her head. "I would bet you meet that side of him all the time, don't you, Lady Phantomhive?"

"Right," Cielle agreed. "His eye is rather useful when we assess the market trends."

Mrs Ashworth let out a little titter before replying, "I promise, this exhibition is just the beginning! There's a surprise in store! His most prized discovery of the expedition—much more exciting than mere coins and—" She trailed off, letting out an exasperated sigh instead.

"Is that so? Then I'll be counting down the moments," said Cielle, smiling as politely as she could.

Mrs Ashworth beamed at them once again, her grin widening as her eyes settled at Sebastian—Cielle had to fight the urge to roll her eyes—then she walked off to greet more newcomers.

Once the woman was out of earshot, Cielle cast a sideways glance at her aunt. "You didn't mention this party was hosted by one of my employees."

Francis didn't so much as blink. "That's because you never thought to ask, my dear niece. Staying informed about social engagements is essential for someone of your position—both as a noble lady and the Queen's Watchdog. Even if you take little interest in such matters," she added, her voice crisp and cutting. "Besides, have you really never visited your managing director at his house?"

"I have," Cielle replied flatly. "But he didn't have this house before."

She was certain of it. Funtom Corporation provided housing for its employees—decent, functional residences—but nothing remotely on par with a villa like this. And an Egyptian expedition? The company paid well, certainly, but lavish trips like that weren't exactly in the budget.

Her gaze met Sebastian's. The pensive stroking of his chin revealed that he had the same thoughts as her. What the hell is going on here?

She cast her gaze across the room, taking in the surroundings; Lizzy was already socialising with other ladies, and Edward studied an illustration of the Egyptian goddess Nut.

Aunt Francis was engaged in conversation with another acquaintance of hers.

Not paying attention to Cielle.

She beckoned to Sebastian to follow her. She needed to think, and she needed a place to do it without distractions or those prying eyes. A quiet corner, away from the noise, would do just fine.

However, before she could take one step away a hand curled around her shoulder, gripping it like talons. She turned around and found herself ensnared by yet another disapproving look of her aunt.

"Well, now, where do you think you're going, young lady?" Francis's voice was as sharp as a whip.

Cielle clenched her jaw, trying to shrug off the talons digging into her skin, but it was no use. "I'm going to the ladies' room. If you'll please excuse me, aunt."

"Oh? And you need your butler to accompany you for that?" Francis cocked her head, clearly savouring the moment.

Cielle's mouth almost hung open like a trapdoor. Seriously? Two days of tiptoeing around this meddlesome, omnipresent harpy, and now she couldn't even take a bloody step without a full-blown interrogation? The gall.

"He wasn't coming with me," she shot back, glancing at Sebastian. "Isn't that right, Sebastian?"

He faltered for a fraction of a second, caught off guard, before bowing his head with perfect politeness. "No, of course not, my Lady."

Francis' hand slackened, finally releasing her shoulder. "Go then."

For a moment Cielle considered making a point by urinating right here on the floor for everyone to see, just to piss her aunt off—figuratively and literally—but turned on her heel and walked away aimlessly.

As she passed the drinks table, she grabbed a glass of champagne, despite the fact that the taste made her want to spit it out.

This was going to be a very, very long night.