CHAPTER 42: CHAPTER 42: FOLLOW ME

Clap.

The sound cut through the servant hall like a blade through silence. Aiden’s palms met once, sharp and deliberate, and every head turned toward him. That was the beauty of power—it didn’t need to scream, didn’t need to bare its teeth like Gerald, or wrap itself in cold guilt like Sansa. All it took was presence. All it took was him.

He stood among them, dressed in the same dark uniform as the others—no embroidery of rank, no gilded trim to separate him from their sweat. A wolf dressed like a lamb. He smiled faintly, lifting his hand with easy grace, beckoning them closer.

"Come... come, my dear friends." His tone was warm, playful, almost conspiratorial. Not the lord commanding subjects, but one worker addressing another.

The shuffle of feet filled the room. The maids and butlers edged nearer, some with cautious eyes, others with unconscious eagerness. The air smelled faintly of soap and damp cloth, the residue of endless scrubbing.

Aiden breathed it in—hard work left a scent, bitter and raw, the musk of exhaustion clinging to these walls like mildew.

He let silence linger, pressing his hand to the back of his neck as though troubled, as though burdened by what he saw.

"So it seems most of the night-shift maids are still here..." His voice softened, carrying an edge of concern.

His gaze drifted toward the far corner where a cluster of young women stood, their uniforms wrinkled, aprons damp from hours of labor. "How many hours has it been for you lot, working?"

There was a hesitant pause. Then, from the corner, a fragile voice pushed forward.

"...It’s been fourteen hours."

The words fell like a stone in water. Aiden narrowed his eyes, letting his face sharpen into anger—not at her, but for her. He made it look instinctive, righteous.

"Haaah..." He exhaled, heavy and weary. His jaw tightened, the tendons standing out in the light. "You have families... loved ones... why were you not allowed to go home? Why not rest below the mansion, where beds are made ready?"

The silence fractured. Another maid stepped forward, taller, her dark hair tied back with strands already loose from sweat. Her lips trembled, but frustration burned in her eyes.

"Yes... I have a husband. A child. But Mistress Sansa told me to clean all the bathrooms first—every last one. She said I could go after. How could I? It takes hours, and my shift was already done..."

Her voice cracked halfway through, anger fraying into helplessness.

Inside, Aiden sneered. Of course they would complain—it was inevitable. But complaints were seeds, and seeds needed the right soil. He had just tilled the ground for them.

He stepped forward, lowering his gaze with practiced heaviness. "...Yes. You are right. I can’t say I know the weight of your frustrations fully but..." He let the pause hang, their eyes clinging to him. "...but Tanya, I know this—I too despise overtime. With the same measly pay."

He said it with venom, the kind that wrapped itself around their own bitterness. His hand clenched into a fist at his side, trembling as if with memory.

In truth, he hadn’t lifted a finger today that could be called work. He had spent his hours indulging—whispering poison into Akidna’s ear, teasing Gerald’s authority, pressing Lady Flora down into her sheets until her gasps echoed in his skull. He thrived while they labored, but they didn’t need truth. They needed kinship.

Their faces shifted. For a breath, they saw themselves in him.

"So... from now on," he declared, voice swelling with conviction, "I will set your schedule. I will lead you to a fair work flow. No longer will your sweat vanish unnoticed. No longer will your labor be swallowed by lords and mistresses who do not see you. I will garner the lord’s favor—and I will share it with you."

His hand slid into his pocket. He pulled free a single golden coin. The dim lamplight caught it, making it blaze like fire in the eyes of the servants. He tossed it lightly toward Tanya. She fumbled, caught it against her chest, staring at it as though afraid it would vanish.

Murmurs surged.

Aiden tilted his head, letting the room breathe, letting greed seep in like wine. That hunger was a far stronger leash than loyalty.

Then, a voice broke through.

"...Aiden." It was Nathen, one of the butlers. His frame was broad but his voice trembled, carrying both hope and doubt. He swallowed hard. "I want to believe you. Everyone does. But what if... what if you forget us? Forget me? We’ve been taken advantage of enough. We can’t let our labor go to waste again."

Perfect. A spark of defiance. Exactly what he wanted. A flock without a wolf is just sheep—but a wolf needs the illusion of struggle, or the game ends too quickly.

Aiden’s smile deepened. He said nothing at first. Instead, he let the silence stretch, let the servants whisper among themselves, suspicion crawling like ivy.

"...Just Do overtime," he finally said, his voice flat, sudden, cutting against everything he had just promised. Murmurs exploded. Gasps, low voices, a rush of betrayal whispered through the crowd.

And then—

Clap!

"But," he thundered, voice cracking the air, "...you will be paid."

He reached down and drew not one, not two, but three heavy pouches. Their leather bulged, the unmistakable weight of gold clinking inside. When he dropped them on the table before him, the sound was thunder in their ears.

Their eyes widened, reflections of gold shimmering like a second light in the room. Hope, greed, longing—all tangled at once.

"Follow me. Work for the lord, yes, but if you don’t want to be forgotten—if you want to rise beyond being just maids and butlers—then work for me. Choose. Choose whom you will be led by."

The room trembled with their whispers. But not the bitter kind. This time, it was hope. A dream of more. The people already charmed by his blood, now were charmed by his gold.

"I’m in."

"I’m in."

"I’m definitely in..."

Aiden tossed coins to each voice that spoke up. One bag emptied swiftly, every coin vanishing into trembling hands, wide eyes, quick bows.

He raised his hand again. "Two rules." His voice sharpened. They stilled, listening as though life itself hung on his tongue. "First rule—you don’t talk about me and my leadership. Second rule..." He paused, letting tension coil around their throats. "...You definitely don’t talk about me and my leadership...."

Laughter broke, nervous and bright. But beneath it they knew. They knew it was not truly a joke.

"...Dismissed," he said lightly, and the servants scattered, energy renewed, some gripping coins in their pockets like talismans. The tall, dark-haired maid bent to scrub bathrooms with a vigor born not of duty, but of ambition.

Aiden leaned against the balcony rail, air cool against his skin, the faint metallic taste of gold still lingering in his mouth. From afar, steel clashed—training swords ringing in the garrison. He smiled, his next prey already in sight.

"Aiden."

Her voice reached him like a shadow creeping across light.

He turned, smile tugging at his lips. "Oh, Akidna. It’s you."

She approached with steady steps, head bowed as if drawn. But her body betrayed her—hesitant, tense, pulled between instinct and submission.

He extended his hand. She came. She always came. His arm slipped around her waist, dragging her flush against him.

Her gasp shivered in the air. Her palms pressed against his chest as if to hold herself steady.

"Aiden..." she whispered, half-breath, half-warning, fixing her glasses.

"Yes, dear." The word tasted sweet on his tongue. He felt the flutter in her chest when he said it. A fragile bird caged by desire.

Her lips trembled. "I heard your speech. Don’t worry—nobody but me heard it."

His fingers traced circles against her hip. "Yes. And?"

"...What are you trying to do, Aiden?....What is your true goal?" Her eyes flicked to the servants below, then back to him.

He tilted his head toward the distant clash of swords, smirk curling. "Is it not obvious?"

"I’ve watched you," she breathed, voice low. "These past weeks... you..." She hesitated, throat tightening. Even the words threatened to cut her life short.

He leaned closer, lips brushing the air by her ear. "..Say it."

Her eyes darted. Around them, the mansion’s workers moved like clockwork, unaware of the storm at their center.

"It’s like..." She swallowed, her voice trembling as though dragged out by invisible chains. "...like you’re trying to ....take over the mansion."