Impossible Spindle

Six

VI
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Matthew

A soft knock dragged my gaze up from the piles of records and statistics lying on the study before me. I kept it down. "Come in."

Irene, the head of our housekeeping staff, poked her head in. Half-hesitated, half-scared. I blinked then swiftly nodded, hinting her to come inside. She relaxed and plodded into the room, still tensed.

"What is it?"

She gave a silent flinch. "Mr-Mr Andrews has called for you."

She tried maintaining her calm that she always had but this time I could see her failing. Working in our family for over a decade, Irene knew how things run here. And she learned to cope with that not just because she was faithful to us but for she knew us inside out. Especially me.

But this once, I didn't mind it all. I didn't mind that she tried to stay rigid but didn't make it. I didn't mind her being terrified of me though she had no reason to. I didn't mind that despite knowing how much I hated people displaying off their fears and begging me like fucking rats, she actually was fearing me. And this once, I didn't mind myself liking something I had never before.

"You can leave. I'll go to him." Her hands were still resting on the doorknob like I would pounce on her any second. Had she been this way with me before, I couldn't have hold it in but now? It fucking satisfied me to see I was still someone to be frightened of but concurrently it was fucking my brains that I had to watch someone from my staff as a reminder when it should've been someone else.

Not needing any further encouragement, Irene left without another word. After waiting for a few more minutes, I got up as well before heading to where my dad was.

The door to his study wasn't locked but I still knocked, knowing how he was. He didn't answer. Pushing through the node, I stepped into the room to find him working on his table.

I cleared my throat to make my presence known but as usual, he didn't look up, his dark blonde curls draping over his wrinkled forehead. "You called for me, father?"

His mouth twitched but except for that, he was immobile. Slowly, he lifted his head to me and I stiffened. Cool-black orbs like Zander's assessed me and it took me a little time to relax under them. Father tilted his head and I took a seat across from him.

I slouched back a bit and raised my brows to my question.

"I used to think you were like me but every time I see up close you remind me more of your mother," He commented flatly.

It took me a moment to gather what he said. I shifted in my seat, wondering why the hell he suddenly brought up her first wife. He hardly ever talked about her since he had Rachael.

"I assume this isn't what I'm here to talk about," I replied coldly. I wasn't in the mood to talk about anything, let alone this.

He twisted the dark carbide ring resting on his forefinger－something he seldom did and I never liked him doing. I knew what was up.

"I assume you already know what you're here to talk about then," He started in a voice I couldn't judge. A trait I'd always be grateful for having him given to me. "Rachael told me what happened yesterday."

I met his gaze at the mention. He stopped and I shrugged for him to continue. "I'm listening."

"It must've been a big enough of a deal for you to loose your temper so easily. That too for a good amount of people to be a part of it." My head averted away, feeling the similar itchiness in my hands to smash something but I leashed it down. I did the mistake of letting what I felt overrule my actions once and sworn to myself never to repeat. Father was right.