Chapter 857: House Bloom Sends Someone Over [Bonus - ]
Chapter 857: House Bloom Sends Someone Over [Bonus Chapter]
Silas led everyone back down the grand stairs, past the formal reception rooms and straight into the heart of the house.
The kitchen stretched out in front of them, wide and full of light… It had honed quartzite counters, warm cherry cabinets, two huge prep islands, tall cold-storage units and a stone hearth for wood-fired baking.
Martha’s jaw dropped.
Her tears stopped instantly, replaced by a look of breathless joy as she drifted toward the nearest island and touched the polished stone with trembling fingertips.
“The range…” she whispered, staring at the double brass ovens like a pilgrim looking at a holy relic. “Six burners… with simmer plates… and a copper hood…”
“There’s an herb greenhouse through those glass doors, too,” Harper added smoothly, stepping up to the counter with a knowing smile. “Rosemary, thyme, basil and mountain sage, all on automatic misters…”
“Oh, sweet heavens above…” Martha breathed, clutching her chest. “I need to make a banquet… A five-course roast, right now.”
“Not yet, Martha,” Silas laughed. “Rest first and let the movers finish up.”
While Lia, Kaede and Penelope crowded around the huge pantry, marveling at the snack drawers Harper had already had stocked with imported sweets, Bridget Bloom stood quietly by the kitchen entrance with her back against the doorframe.
She held her satchel in both hands, her crimson bangs shifting slightly as her sharp eyes tracked every single interaction.
’Quite interesting…’ she thought.
This wasn’t what she’d expected at all.
In House Bloom, a house was a weapon… Manors were built with high, echoing, freezing halls meant to make visiting clans feel small and desperate for favor.
The matriarch lived in isolated grandeur surrounded by armed retainers, while servants hurried through hidden passages and never spoke unless spoken to but Silas Graves had walked straight past twenty-odd suites, a private cinema and a ballroom.
He’d shown his sister her desk, given a maid a suite with a balcony, and then led everyone to the kitchen to talk about roasts and snack drawers…
He wasn’t treating this place like a fortress or a monument to himself… He was treating it like a family home and even more confusing was the way they were all treating her.
’So weird…’
Bridget was used to people reacting to her name with nervous bows, flattery or resentful glares but Penelope had just handed her a can of peach-cream soda from the pantry without asking anyone’s permission.
Kaede had tried to show her a “royal secret” for folding a napkin into a crane, and gotten it wrong twice and Silas had carried her up the stairs like a little sister while teasing her about Sera’s temper without a single ounce of political caution.
They were nice to her… completely nice.
Bridget looked down at the cold can in her hands, then up at the girls laughing in the pantry, then back down at the can.
’Why did she give me this?’ She thought, honestly baffled. ’I didn’t ask for it… I didn’t do anything for it, What does she want in return?’
She waited for the catch however Penelope just went back to digging through the cookies.
Bridget took a small suspicious sip. It was delicious, which somehow made it worse.
How was an elite daughter of House Bloom supposed to keep up proper hostile surveillance when people kept handing her sweet fruit drinks?
Eventually, everyone settled onto the leather stools around the main island.
Silas poured cold glasses of water for everyone and leaned his hip against the counter beside Harper, who was sipping an iced tea and idly flicking through reports on her tablet.
Late afternoon sun poured through the wide southern windows, painting the stone in honey-colored light, and the soft hum of the refrigerator filled the quiet.
Nitocris hopped down from Silas’s shoulder and trotted across the quartz to sit by Harper’s elbow, yawning wide enough to show her little pink tongue.
“A tolerable feeding chamber,” she declared, giving her whiskers a delicate swipe. “I expect an offering of grilled salmon to celebrate our arrival, Nyaa~”
“You’ll get kibble and you’ll like it, Your Majesty,” Harper shot back, though she reached over and scratched the cat under the chin anyway.
Lia giggled from her stool, her elbows on the counter. “I still can’t believe this is our house… It feels like a dream.”
“It’s real, Lia,” Silas smiled, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Just quiet trees and plenty of space.”
At the edge of the island, Bridget quietly lifted her left wrist and turned the face of her sleek black watch toward her.
Her crimson bangs parted slightly as she read it.
[4:52 PM.]
Her whole body went stiff as an iron rod. Her grip on her satchel tightened until her knuckles went white, and her small mouth fell open in a silent circle of absolute horror.
“Oh…”
The kitchen went quiet for three heartbeats, aside from the hum of the cold-storage units.
Bridget stayed frozen on her stool, her polished shoes hovering above the brass footrest, her crimson bangs trembling with her quick breaths.
“Bridget?” Lia leaned forward, tilting her head in gentle concern. “Is something wrong? Did your watch stop?”
“I… I’m late,” Bridget said, the words snapping out in a brittle, high-pitched rush that had none of her earlier poise. “Severely late… Curfew for junior members at the Bloom residence is four forty-five. It’s now four fifty-two. An unreported delay means the household guard gets sent out and I get a formal disciplinary review.”
Penelope snorted into her soda and nearly choked on the bubbles.
“A disciplinary review? For being seven minutes late after school? What kind of weird prison camp do you live in, shorty…?”
“It’s not a prison camp, it’s an ancient martial house!” Bridget hissed, spinning on her stool hard enough to make her skirt flare. “Every unaccounted minute is a breach of clan security… Mother says an unescorted daughter of the bloodline is an open invitation to kidnappers! I have to leave immediately!”
She scrambled off the stool, her knees nearly buckling from sheer panic, and grabbed her satchel strap with both hands.
Silas pushed off the counter and slipped his phone into his coat pocket with a relaxed confident smile on his lips as he looked down at the tiny trembling girl.
“Hey, take it easy,” he said, his calm voice cutting straight through her spiral. “Nobody’s sending a strike team up Celestine Heights over seven minutes… My car’s in the garage, and Harper’s is out front so we can have you home in no time.”
Harper pushed her glasses up her nose and tossed her violet hair over her shoulder with an easy smirk.
“He’s right, little Bloom,” she purred, crossing her legs on her stool. “My car gets you anywhere in this city faster than your guards could even file a report… I’ll drive you to your gates myself.”
Bridget puffed out her cheeks beneath her curtain of hair, her pride flaring back to life despite the cold sweat prickling her neck.
“I don’t need charity from an insufferable corporate harpy, and I’m not riding in the car of a woman my sister curses during target practice!” she declared. “And there’s no need for either of you to drive me. My family’s people are never blind. If I’m late, they already…”
A sharp chime rang through the kitchen from the panel mounted beside the pantry.
DING!
A crisp hologram flickered to life against the brushed-steel wall plate, showing a live feed from the main gates down at the edge of the estate.
Parked just outside the towering star-iron gates was a sleek car in glossy crimson lacquer which was the exact shade of Bridget’s hair… The roaring flame crest of House Bloom was embossed in gold on the front fender.
Standing beside the driver’s door was a tall, striking woman in her mid-twenties wearing the black-and-burgundy uniform of the Bloom household guard, her fiery red hair bound in a sharp high braid that fell between her shoulder blades.
Her expression was all stern professional vigilance.
She pressed the intercom outside the gate, and her cultured southern accent came clearly through the kitchen speakers.
“Good afternoon to the household of Grand Horizon,” she said, her tone measured and crisp. “I’m Senior Sub-Commander Sharon of the Bloom household guard… We’ve traced the beacon of our young mistress, Lady Bridget Bloom, to this address… We humbly request to escort our young lady home.”
Silas blinked at the hologram.
“Grand Horizon?” he repeated, turning to Harper with a raised eyebrow. “Who’s that?”
“That’s you, darling,” Harper said, setting down her iced tea with a smug little smile. “It’s the estate’s registered name. It’s printed on the deed, right under your name… You’d know that if you’d read past the line where you signed.”
“I read the important parts but I didn’t see it.” Silas said.
“You read your own name and smiled at it,” Harper corrected, tapping his chest with one finger. “The house is called Grand Horizon… Try to remember it, Mister Graves. It’s going on your letterhead.”
Silas looked back at the hologram, then crossed his arms with an amused chuckle and glanced down at Bridget.
“Well,” he drawled. “She does have transport.”
Bridget let out a long, shaky breath of relief, her small shoulders sagging half an inch.
“Sharon… thank the ancestral hearth. My sister’s personal detachment must have caught the tracking alert before Mother’s people could log it.”
She straightened her uniform with rapid nervous tugs, smoothing her skirt and adjusting her satchel strap then she turned back toward the island, and realized everyone was looking at her.
Lia was watching her with sweet gentle encouragement, Penelope had a toothy grin on her face, Kaede was giving her a tiny two-fingered wave from behind her empty soda can, Martha smiled warmly from beside the brass ovens and Harper was watching her with one arched eyebrow that dripped with wealthy condescension.
Bridget’s pale cheeks flushed a furious shade of pink beneath her bangs.
She took a stiff step back, clutching her satchel to her ribs, her chin dropping until her mouth disappeared behind her collar.
“I… I must take my leave,” she murmured, her voice suddenly small and bashful. “Thank you for… for the fruit soda. And for letting me see your new house. I’ll… see you at the Academy tomorrow, Lia. Penelope… Kaede…”
“See you tomorrow, Bridget!” Lia beamed, waving with both hands. “We’ll save you a seat by the window!”
“Don’t trip over your hair on the steps, shorty!” Penelope called out with a grin.
“Have a safe car ride!” Kaede said, then flung her sleeve out dramatically. “May the southern winds bless your journey!”
Bridget’s ears burned bright red.
’They’re saving me a seat,’ she thought, spinning on her heel and marching for the foyer. ’Nobody asked them to save me a seat so why would they save me a seat?’
“Hold on, squirt,” Silas laughed, following after her with long, unhurried strides. “The gates won’t open from inside unless you’ve got the access code. I’ll walk you out…”
They stepped out through the tall front doors onto the terrace.
The autumn sun had sunk low over the plateau, painting the sky in soft gold and pale orange, and the long shadows of the evergreens stretched across the white granite stairs.
Silas strolled down the wide steps with his hands buried in his coat pockets.
Bridget hurried beside him, her short legs working double time to match his relaxed pace, her crimson bangs rustling in the crisp mountain wind.
“Your sister really talks about me that much, huh?” Silas teased, glancing down at the top of her head as they followed the curving drive through the evergreen grove.
Bridget’s satchel bounced against her hip.
“She doesn’t stop talking about you,” she muttered bitterly, keeping her face turned firmly toward the trees. “It’s an unending torment. Every breakfast, every dinner, every phone call before she left with the fleet… she always finds a way to mention your name, or your strength, or how irritatingly stubborn your jaw is… She acts like you’re some ancient conqueror destined to rule the continent, and you look like someone who spends forty minutes deciding what color socks to wear.”
“Hey, picking the right socks is an art form,” Silas chuckled, thoroughly enjoying her bristling. “Besides, Sera’s just jealous because my hair looks better in the wind.”
“Don’t insult my sister’s hair!” Bridget snapped, though the corner of her lips twitched upward beneath her fringe before she could stop it.
She caught it and frowned harder.
’Why did I almost laugh?’ she thought. ’He insulted Sera. I should be furious. Why am I not furious…?’
They came out of the tree line in front of the towering star-forged iron gates that sealed off the estate.
Silas stepped up to the stone pedestal beside the left pillar and rested his thumb on the scanner pad.
HUMMM!
The gates recognized him with a soft deep chime and swung inward in smooth silence, parting down the middle to reveal the private drive beyond.
Beside the crimson town car, Senior Sub-Commander Sharon stood at full attention with her hands clasped behind her back.
Her sharp amber eyes were fixed on the parting iron.
“Lady Bridget,” she began, her voice carrying the crisp authority of an elite officer, “we received an alert that your beacon had stopped inside Celestine…”
The words died in her throat.