Awakening Domination System: But I'm a Slave?
Chapter 24: Unexpected Visitor

Chapter 24: Unexpected Visitor

"I’m not seeing anyone. And I’m not planning to," he said flatly.

Then he paused, throwing her a sly side glance.

"But if I were to..." he smirked, letting his voice trail just enough to build tension.

Iris blinked, curious.

"You’d be at the top of my no-no list."

"Rude!" She huffed and turned her nose up in exaggerated offense, ignoring him entirely now, earning a light chuckle from him.

"But for a mere servant, you have quite a dream," Alaric said with a teasing lilt, a slight smirk playing at his lips.

Iris stopped mid-step.

"Excuse me?" she turned to him with a glare.

Her voice carried a challenge. She puffed her cheeks slightly, then raised a brow, ready to bite back.

"Then what does that make you, huh? A mere slav—"

She halted.

The words froze on her tongue as she caught the flat, unreadable expression on Alaric’s face.

Deadpan. Quiet.

But heavy.

Regret instantly crept across her features.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. She lowered her head in guilt and hurriedly skipped forward, closing the distance between them.

"Hey... I—I’m sorry." Her voice was quiet, fragile.

Alaric kept walking. Unbothered. Unchanged.

But that only made her more anxious.

"I didn’t mean it like that," she tried again, genuine worry tightening her tone. "It just slipped out—I wasn’t thinking—"

"It’s fine." Alaric cut her off calmly.

She blinked, hesitant. "But—"

"I said it’s fine, Iris."

He turned his head just slightly, enough to glance at her. His voice didn’t hold anger.

Just weight.

"I don’t take offense to trivial things like that."

His words were steady, but something in them made her chest tighten.

She opened her mouth, tried to speak again, but nothing came out. Instead, she looked ahead, her fingers nervously tugging at her sleeve.

A long pause stretched between them.

Then, with a deep breath, she seemed to collect herself. Her lips twitched into a faint, sheepish smile as she tried to lighten the mood.

"By the way," she said, her voice regaining its usual playful tone, "why do you always stare at yourself in the mirror every day, huh?"

Alaric exhaled through his nose.

"None of your business."

Iris pouted, crossing her arms dramatically.

"Tch. Stingy," she muttered, but didn’t press further.

They walked together in silence after that—shoulder to shoulder, the soft tapping of boots against marble echoing through the corridor.

Soon, they reached their designated posts and quietly began their daily work.

The soft swish of mops. The occasional clatter of buckets. The dull murmur of servants speaking in hushed tones.

Then—

"Hey, you. Slave. Come here."

The voice rang sharp, cold with authority.

Alaric turned his head.

A middle-aged woman stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her auburn hair was tied in a tight bun, a few strands curled from stress or age. Her uniform was immaculate—crisp, stern. The Head Maid.

Alaric exhaled slowly, dropped his mop, and walked toward her with steady steps.

"Yes, Head Maid?" he asked, voice firm, unshaken.

She gave him a once-over, then stepped closer.

"A guest has arrived. You’re part of the assigned serving staff."

Then suddenly, she reached forward and grabbed his collar, yanking him slightly forward.

Alaric’s jaw clenched.

His hazel eyes narrowed into daggers.

"Lady Selene gave strict orders," the woman hissed, "so don’t you dare screw this up. You embarrass the household again and I’ll make sure you never see sunlight from the servant quarters again."

Without missing a beat, Alaric raised his hand and swatted hers off his shirt.

He calmly adjusted his collar, unfazed. "I’ll keep that in mind."

He turned without another word.

The Head Maid clicked her tongue and stalked off, muttering under her breath.

"Report to the main hall in five minutes," she barked before vanishing around the corridor.

Alaric walked back to the storage room, placed the mop and bucket inside, and closed the door.

As he stepped out again, he saw Iris a short distance away, her expression creased with worry.

She stepped closer. "Are you okay?"

Alaric gave a small nod, brushing past her. "Yeah."

Without further words, they walked side by side.

Down the broad corridor. Up the polished steps. Toward the manor’s grand entrance.

Voices buzzed in quiet tones as they reached the main hall.

Servants lined up near the door—maids in their pressed uniforms, guards standing at attention. Even a few higher attendants had come out, their expressions composed, heads bowed slightly.

The heavy main doors creaked open.

And in walked a young man, no older than his early twenties. Clean cut, elegant uniform. His boots barely made a sound, each step calm but confident. He was flanked by four armored guards, their cloaks fluttering softly behind them.

Then—

Alaric’s jaw tightened, when he the person walking beside him.

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