The Tyrant's Pet

[ HOUSE ROTHSCHILD ]

Miguel jumped out of the carriage with a deep exhale. After his conversation with Dexter, he went straight home, since there was nothing he could do. Dexter made sense, so he just wanted to trust the administration.

"Welcome back, my lord." The head butler's voice stole Miguel's attention, gazing at the old man and a few servants who came out to welcome his return. "It seemed you had a long day."

"Well, I did." Miguel scratched the back of his head, lifting his brows as he gaze at the mansion behind the servants.

"Your guest is here again today," said the butler before the young lord of the noble clan could ask a question. "My lord, I don't think you should keep avoiding her. It had been a month, and her patience is running thin."

"What a demanding and imperious person — she's annoying." A deep frown dominated Miguel's dashing face, displeased about this guest that had been bugging him since his return. "I don't want to talk to her."

"The master, your father, is here as well."

Miguel's frown deepened. "That old geezer."

"My lord."

"Fine!" Miguel threw his hands in the air. "It's not like I can keep avoiding them."

"Facing problems or people you dislike is better," advised the butler politely, smiling helplessly at his young master. "Please."

"I already said fine." Miguel rolled his eyes, motioning his arms. "Lead the way. I'd rather get this done and over — poor ears."

"Please follow me."

With that being said, Miguel followed the head butler of the estate. It had been a while since Miguel met his father. Even after his return, he only sent the man a letter to announce his return. This only showed his relationship with his father, the current clan leader of the Rothschild.

Soon, Miguel stood in front of a two-door with the butler before him. The butler stepped to the side, head low.

"They're waiting for you inside," announced the butler politely.

Miguel simply glanced at the butler, expressing his halfhearted thanks. The butler's response was a smile, not waiting for Miguel to enter as he bowed once again before he sauntered off. Meanwhile, Miguel idled in front of the door.

"This is annoying," he muttered, reaching for the handle. His expression turned frosty even before he pushed the door open.

His eyes instantly caught two figures inside the drawing room. The exquisite aroma of tea wafted through his nostril, making him dart his eyes between the people sitting across from each other at the round table. One was a woman sipping from the teacup while the other was a man in his classic lavish suit. They appeared as though they were having a great time chatting with each other, but stopped upon sensing Miguel's presence.

"Lovely evening," greeted Miguel sarcastically. "It seemed you two are having a good time and my presence ruined the lovely mood. My bad."

"We were having a bet whether you will run away or open that door," replied the woman with a relaxing voice, turning her head in his direction. She had her eyes shut, yet her stance seemed as though she could see Miguel clearly.

"Is that so?" Miguel smirked. "I wonder who won the bet?"

"Son, I understand your rebellious nature. However, you should sit down first, since we already heard enough of your polite greetings." The man chimed in. His voice and aura emanated authority, but his tone while talking to his son was much more tolerable, as if he was just used to Miguel's sassing. "Come. I would like to take a look at you."

Miguel's expression died, staring at the man, who was smiling at him warmly. Reluctance and dismay were apparent in his eye, but Miguel said nothing. Instead, he marched forward and sat down on the available chair at the table he didn't want to be invited in.

He then faced his father like a kid on a brink of throwing a tantrum. The man assessed his face and smiled in satisfaction.

"I'm glad to see you return safely, son," the man expressed, nodding reassuringly. "Now, I am at peace and I can rest for some time. Your mother had been very upset with me since I've been in the capital for quite some time now."

"She's upset because you are in the capital where this vixen dwells," Miguel didn't filter his words, casting the woman, who had her eyes shut, a look. "Even I would be upset if my spouse is running free in a place close to her previous lover's residence. What made that worse is this former lover doesn't even know boundaries."

"Miguel." The man, Albert Rothschild, the clan leader of the Rothschild, frowned deeply. "I am being lenient since it had been a while since I saw you and because you are my son. However, there's a limit to a person's ignorance and crassness."

Miguel sneered, gazing at his father with ridicule. "Now, you are taking her side. Do not tell me you had gone back to your old ways, Father?"

"Miguel!"

"Lord Albert, please do not scold him. The junior lord is still young and needed guidance." The woman chimed in before the father and son argued even more. But in Miguel's eyes, she wasn't trying to calm things down, but rather displaying how she got his father wrapped around her fingers again. "Not to mention, he came from a long expedition. I'm certain he is tired on top of the things he had to settle when he returned to the mainland."

"What a hypocrite." Miguel hissed, darting his eyes between the two. "I heard about what happened to mother. She's ill again — you two and your infidelity turn my stomach."

The woman slowly opened her eye, revealing clouded pupils and irises. "Your mother is ill because she always had a weak body. We are not here to talk about the adult's affairs, but yours. Please. Do not take things too personally. Am I correct, Lord Albert?"

"That is right." Lord Albert nodded, not denying or confirming his son's 'accusation.' "We want you to monitor the queen. She's dangerous."