From Servant to Savior
Ainsley's presen
the west wing, a stark contrast to the sterile, medicinal smell tha
suite adjoining Dorian's. The space that had always been kept em
n's seizures, was to personally oversee his meals and his rooms. Eleanor Steele, his grandmother and
ds I'd heard through the door as I cleaned up the mess. I remembered the sound o
orian's breakfast tray, she was alrea
he one I always sat in when I had to supervise Dorian eating, mak
on her frame, a clear statement of intimacy. She looked up at me as I approached, a lazy, triumphant
n, sharp and sicken
tremor I felt inside. I had prepared his favorite, a simple
," I said, my voice q
. His attention was
the empty chair across the table. It was a clear taunt. Sh
. My hand trembled as I poured Dorian's coffee, and a
cted a sharp reprimand, a cold glare. It w
s too busy laughing at something
but it was distant and cold. "Just l
lips sounded
nd began to dab at the coffee stain, my knuckles brushing against the hot porce
A tiny, insignificant wound in the grand
d, on h
lay next to his plate. Dorian Steele & Ainsley Sandova
second, I saw a flicker of concern, the old, i
you h
stubborn weed, sp
s, and the concern vanished, r
id, his voice flat. "I don't want
n inconvenience. As if my blood wasn't th
years ago, after I'd scraped my knee and tried to tend to one of his c
wn out of that childis
lk handkerchief from the pocket of the shirt-his shirt-and held it out to me. "Here. You s
ear. I was clumsy
a rose bush in the garden, and he had been so gentle, his touch surprising
a lie now. A story f
ndkerchief. I didn't w
from her, his fingers brushing against hers i
t give i
ts precise and uncaring. Then, he tossed the blood-stained handkerchi
My pain, my blood
even looking at me.
onversation as if I had never been there. As if I were jus
ed hand clenched into a fist. The p
aight, my head held high. I did not let them see
ave. I had
on from the floor where it had fallen.
f what I was
ent, empty hallway, that I would