Jack's legs protested as he unfolded from the chair. Hours of sitting had left his muscles stiff, but he couldn't bring himself to regret the vigil. His mother's peaceful breathing filled the room as he crept toward the door.
The handle turned with the whisper-quiet precision of expensive engineering - nothing like the squealing hinges back home. Jack stepped into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him.
"Mr. Reeves?"
He spun around. A young woman stood before him, her chestnut hair falling in waves around a heart-shaped face. She wore a neat black dress with a crisp white apron, but something about her seemed to brighten the sterile hospital corridor.
"I'm Lily Hart." Her smile reached her hazel eyes. "Mr. Altiar assigned me as your personal maid."
Jack's brain stumbled over the words 'personal maid.' The concept felt as foreign as everything else in this gilded cage. "I don't need-"
"Your grandfather insisted." Lily's tone carried a hint of amusement. "And between us? He's not someone who takes no for an answer."
Jack ran a hand through his hair, suddenly aware of how disheveled he must look after the day's events. "Look, I appreciate it, but I can take care of myself. Been doing it for years."
"Oh, I don't doubt that." Lily tilted her head, studying him with unexpected directness. "But this isn't Ashton anymore. The rules here are... different. Let me help you navigate them."
Something in her voice - practical, without the condescension he'd expected - made Jack pause. She was right. He was in unknown territory now, surrounded by protocols and expectations he couldn't begin to guess at.
"Alright." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Where do we start?"
"First, we get you something to eat. You've been in there for hours." She gestured down the hall. "The kitchen staff is waiting for your preferences, but I took the liberty of having them prepare something simple for tonight."
Jack's stomach growled at the mention of food, reminding him he hadn't eaten since... he couldn't actually remember when. "Simple sounds perfect."
Jack followed Lily through corridors that could have swallowed his entire apartment building. Crystal chandeliers cast pools of warm light across marble floors polished to mirror shine. Oil paintings larger than his bedroom walls depicted stern-faced men and women in elaborate period clothing - ancestors, he supposed, though none shared his dark hair or sharp features.
"The east wing houses the medical facilities," Lily explained, her shoes clicking against the floor. "We're heading to the main house through the connecting gallery."
The 'gallery' turned out to be a glass-enclosed walkway suspended above manicured gardens. Moonlight silvered the perfectly trimmed hedges and burbling fountains below. Jack's reflection walked beside him, a ghost in worn jeans and his father's old jacket.
"How many people live here?"
"Full-time staff is around fifty," Lily said. "Including groundskeepers, security, kitchen staff, and household servants. The mansion has forty-seven bedrooms, twelve reception rooms, three formal dining rooms, and two informal dining areas."
They passed through another set of doors into what Lily called the 'family wing.' Here, the décor shifted from imposing to merely expensive. Rich carpets muffled their footsteps, and the artwork featured landscapes instead of portraits.
The kitchen entrance brought a wave of savory aromas that made Jack's stomach clench. But as they stepped inside, the busy chatter died instantly.
At least twenty people in various uniforms froze mid-task. A cluster of maids near the coffee station whispered behind raised hands. Two butlers exchanged meaningful glances. The head chef, a broad-shouldered man in whites, stopped directing his staff to stare openly.
"Is that him?"
"Look at those clothes..."
"Can't believe Mr. Altiar would..."
"...straight from the streets..."
The whispers weren't quite quiet enough. Jack's jaw tightened, but Lily stepped smoothly between him and the staring crowd.
"This way, Mr. Reeves." She guided him to a smaller dining area adjacent to the main kitchen. "Please, have a seat."
The 'informal' dining room still featured hand-carved chairs and what looked like actual silver place settings. Jack sank into the indicated chair, hyper-aware of the eyes still watching through the kitchen doorway.
"I'll get your meal," Lily said. "Just ignore them - they'll adjust."
She disappeared into the kitchen, where the whispers grew more animated. Jack caught fragments about his appearance, his obvious poverty, speculation about his mother. His fingers drummed against the polished table surface.
A stern voice cut through the gossip: "Back to work, all of you. Now."
Lily emerged moments later carrying a covered silver tray. She set it before him with practiced grace, lifting the dome to reveal a perfectly grilled steak with roasted vegetables and some kind of fancy potato dish.
"Chef Maurice prepared this specially," she said. "He wasn't sure of your preferences, but he thought you might appreciate something substantial after such a long day."
The food looked better than anything Jack had seen outside of TV shows. His stomach growled again, but he hesitated, glancing toward the kitchen where staff members were still stealing looks between their tasks.
"They'll learn," Lily said quietly, reading his discomfort. "Right now, you just need to eat."
Jack lifted the fork, its weight unfamiliar in his hand. The first bite of steak melted on his tongue - perfectly seasoned, impossibly tender. His eyes closed involuntarily at the burst of flavor.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, the familiar rhythm of his ringtone cutting through the quiet. He fished it out, Migs' name flashing on the cracked screen.
Jack wiped his hands on the cloth napkin - actual fabric, not the paper ones from the diner - and answered. "Hey."
"Dude, where are you? I've been trying to reach you all day!"
"You're not gonna believe this." Jack pushed his chair back from the table. "Remember that crazy plan I had?"
"The one where you were gonna break into some billionaire's office? Please tell me you didn't-"
"He's my grandfather, Migs."
Silence crackled across the line. Then: "What?"
"My mom's father. Elias Altiar. The whole thing - it's real. I'm sitting in his mansion right now."
"You're messing with me." Migs' voice rose an octave. "Altiar Industries? That Altiar?"
"Yeah. Mom's getting treatment in their private medical wing. They've got doctors, equipment - everything she needs."
"Holy shit." A pause. "Holy shit, Jack."
"I know."
"So what happens now? Are you, like, rich?"
"Mr. Reeves." Lily's voice floated from behind him. "Your dinner's getting cold."
"Is that a girl?" Migs' tone shifted from shock to amusement. "Damn, you work fast! One day with money and you've already got yourself a girlfriend?"
Jack turned to see Lily's cheeks flush pink. She took a step back, smoothing her apron with nervous hands.
"She's not- it's not like that." Jack felt his own face heating up. "She's just-"
"Sure, sure." Migs laughed. "Whatever you say, rich boy."
"I'll call you back later," Jack muttered, ending the call before Migs could make any more assumptions.
The silence stretched awkwardly as Lily busied herself adjusting things that didn't need adjusting. Jack cleared his throat. "Sorry about that. He's... that's just how he is."
"No need to apologize, Mr. Reeves." Lily's voice was carefully professional, but a hint of pink still colored her cheeks. "Please, finish your meal."
Jack returned to his food, but the easy comfort of their earlier interaction had evaporated. He could feel Lily's presence behind him, sense her uncertainty about whether to stay or go. The weight of his new reality pressed down harder with each bite of the perfectly cooked steak.
Even a simple phone call to his best friend highlighted the growing gap between his old life and whatever this was becoming. And somehow, Lily had become caught in the middle of that divide - not quite staff, after their earlier conversation, but definitely not the girlfriend Migs had joked about.
Jack set down his fork, appetite fading despite the excellent food. Everything was different now. Even this - just eating dinner - came with complications he'd never imagined.