𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓖𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 || 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲

Chapter 20 - Errands

Ophelia marched up the stone stairs, parchment gripped tightly between her fingers. The morning light had only just risen over the tree tops, bathing the manor in a buttery winter glow that made it almost homely, and less like a museum. She huffed, took a deep breath and gritted her teeth as she reached for the handle to Lucius' office. She knew he'd be there, sulking in his dark corner of the house.

Ophelia raised her clenched fist to the door, and knocked, three times.

"Come in, if you must," A lazy voice called from the other side of the heavy wooden door. She opened it, pushing the door to reveal the dark belly of the office. The curtains were drawn, but not quite fully, a slither of golden light peaked through, catching a few strands of Lucius' hair as he sat at his desk. Those strands glowed in the sun's rays, he almost looked ethereal earning a slight snicker from the governess as she strode towards him as confidently as she could.

Without a word she held the folded parchment out to him as he scratched away at his own parchment, a silver quill in his hand.

"What is that?" He asked without giving Ophelia or the parchment in her hand, a single glance.

"My letter of resignation, like I said," she told him pointedly.

"And what do you want me to do with that?" Lucius asked, still not a glance in Ophelia's direction. Ophelia narrowed her eyes on him, he looked perfectly put together as usual but something was... off.

A slight tired bag under his eyes.

Had he really stayed awake the entire night?

Brooding over their argument no doubt.

"You said you would accept it, if I was to return it you."

"I said no such thing, I may have written that but... I write and say a lot of things, I don't always stay true to those things though, part of the job you see," He tutted as he moved his sheet of parchment to the top of a pile and began scratching away at another.

"Kind of like your wedding vows then," Ophelia said with sweet venom.

Lucius set down his quill.

Leaning back in his chair he regarded Ophelia casually, one eyebrow raising up.

"If you wish to fight, or argue, Ophelia, I can search out my wife for that,"

"You really are a rotten bastard aren't you," Ophelia growled as her eyebrows knitted together furiously.

Lucius' chair groaned and screeched against the ground as he stood, his palms pressed into the desk, his fingertips turning white.

"If you really want to resign Ophelia, hand over the letter, turn around, pack your bags and leave... if this is some kind of statement or show of strength, I suggest you go cool off before you encounter me again," Lucius's words were like poisonous pills. Deadly and hard to swallow.

Ophelia looked him in the eye defiantly. Although she went into that room with the pure intention of resigning, of finally freeing herself from that house and ultimately him, part of her wanted him to fight it, to refuse, to have him so openly tell her to pack her bags and go... it stung. No, it didn't sting, for some inexplicable reason it was worse than that, like a blow to the stomach, or a stab to the back. It hurt her in places she didn't even know existed deep down inside her.

He was bluffing. He had to be. Or was he?

She decided to call him on it, and with a lazy flick of her wrist the parchment flew onto his desk.