Morning came quietly to the Ashcroft estate.

The kitchen was washed in pale, cold light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the hills outside still half-asleep under a thin veil of mist. The house was otherwise silent—no staff, no voices, just the low hum of expensive appliances and the faint ticking of a designer clock on the wall.

He stood barefoot by the kitchen island, baggy black sweatpants hanging low on his hips, upper body bare, skin still warm from the night before. A faint soreness lingered in his muscles—the good kind. He’d been up until past midnight, locked in the gym wing, pushing weight after weight, headphones in, thoughts off. It was the only way he knew how to shut his mind down.

A mug of black coffee steamed in his hand.

He scrolled through his phone with the other, thumb moving lazily—missed messages, work updates from his father’s company, a few unread group chats he didn’t feel like opening yet. His posture was relaxed but heavy, shoulders slightly rounded, like sleep hadn’t fully caught up to him yet.

Lux, the black cat, sat perched on the counter a few feet away, tail flicking slowly, watching him with half-lidded eyes.

He took a sip of coffee, exhaled through his nose, and leaned his hip against the counter, gaze drifting briefly toward the hallway—toward the part of the house that wasn’t really his alone anymore.