Gabriel's Obsession

Awkward Encounters

Amelia's POV

A persistent knock roused me from sleep, the sound intruding upon the remnants of my dreams. Half-awake, I mumbled a groggy "Come in," but immediately realized my voice had likely been too soft to be heard beyond the door.

How foolish of me, I thought with a sleepy chuckle, amused by my own drowsy mistake.

The knocking continued, patient but insistent, and I quickly gathered my bearings. It was most likely one of the house staff, standing just beyond the door, waiting. A small pang of guilt tugged at me. I hated the thought of keeping anyone waiting, especially the workers who had no choice but to cater to this household. Their time and effort deserved respect.

Pushing back the covers, I padded barefoot across the room, my nightdress brushing against my skin as I made my way to the door. When I swung it open, I was met with the sight of a housekeeper balancing a breakfast tray, the aroma of fresh coffee and warm pastries wafting toward me.

A frown tugged at my lips.

I hadn't asked for breakfast to be brought up. In fact, I had made it clear to Gabriel that I intended to join his family at the dining table this morning. Yet, here was breakfast, delivered as though my decision had never been made.

Gabriel.

I sighed inwardly, my frustration mild but undeniable. He was doing this to protect me, I knew. But despite the quiet hostility that lingered between me and his parents, I didn't want to hide away in this room like an outsider. I wanted to try to make an effort to bridge the divide, even if it was just by sharing a meal with them.

Still, Gabriel had taken that choice away from me. Again.

"Madam, can you move, please? I need to place this on the table."

The sharpness in the housekeeper's tone caught me off guard. There was no warmth, no professionalism—just thinly veiled impatience. I blinked at her, momentarily taken aback. Was this how all the household staff behaved?

I had grown up in a home where kindness and respect were paramount, regardless of social status. My mother had always emphasized that true character was measured not by how you treated those above you, but by how you treated those who served you. And yet, standing before me was someone who, despite working in this grand mansion, seemed to lack even the most basic courtesy.

Still, I refused to let it rattle me. With a composed nod, I stepped aside, allowing her to proceed.

"I'm genuinely grateful for your efforts," I said, keeping my voice even and polite, "but I'd prefer to have breakfast downstairs with everyone. Please take this back."

The housekeeper barely masked her irritation as she placed the tray on the table anyway. "Sir Gabriel specifically instructed me to bring your morning meal here," she countered, as if challenging my request.

I exhaled slowly, reigning in my patience. Of course, he did.

"I already spoke with him about this," I responded firmly, my patience thinning. "I'll be joining the family for breakfast."

Her lips pursed, but she didn't argue further. Instead, she gave an exaggerated sigh and an almost theatrical roll of her eyes before grabbing the tray and walking out, making a point to slam the door a little harder than necessary.

I stared at the closed door, a quiet sigh escaping my lips.

"It's going to be quite the challenge adapting to life here," I muttered to myself.

Gabriel's overprotectiveness, his family's open hostility, the dismissive attitude of the staff—this house already felt more like a battlefield than a home. But if they thought I would cower or hide away in my room, they were sorely mistaken.