#53
Layla was dressed modestly—especially compared to the women around her, whose outfits flaunted vibrant colors, bold necklines, and shimmering accessories that sparkled beneath the morning light. Her style made her stand out, not by demanding attention… but by quietly deserving it.
A soft lilac dress shaped her figure beneath an oversized shirt, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the smooth skin of her forearms. Her round cheeks carried a natural rosy tint, faint but unmistakable in the golden glow drifting through the windows.
The room buzzed with loud banter and playful jabs—cutlery clinking, chairs scraping, laughter ready to overflow. Yet she was like a gentle island in the center of all that noise. Calm. Steady. Comfortable in silence, while everyone else seems to be competing to be the loudest.
She didn’t look at me right away. She kept her gaze on the table, fingers lightly playing with the edge of her glass—nervous, maybe uncertain. But eventually, as if she could feel my attention, she lifted her head.
Our eyes met.
And her smile… it wasn’t the kind of smile that demanded anything. It wasn’t hungry or desperate like the looks I’d grown used to—those looks that wanted me, not because I’m a man, but who I was.
Warm. Affection. Friendly. Delicate. Hopeful.
The kind of look that said she still remembered last night, that it had meant something. A wordless promise lingered there: affection, trust, maybe even love.
For a moment, she seemed unsure whether to call out. Maybe she thought what happened between us had been nothing more than a fleeting dream.
But I couldn’t let her think that.
So I smiled—genuine, unguarded—and lifted a hand in greeting.
Her eyes widened in surprise, then softened with joy. She nodded back, a blush coloring her cheeks again.
A familiar voice broke through the noise.
“Finally decided to grace us with your presence?”
Rod sat near the middle of the table, methodically stacking a tower of pancakes drenched in syrup, his focus so intense it was almost artistic. When he noticed me approaching, his grin widened—teasing, but not unkind. He pushed a few extra plates my way, the syrup bottle sliding along with them like an offering.
“We were starting to think you’d died in your sleep.” he said with mock exasperation.
Beside him, Donna sipped her coffee, her eyes glinting with amusement.
“Morning, lover boy,” she said, raising her mug in salute. “You look… satisfied.”
I groaned softly. “You all really don’t miss a beat, huh?”
“Why would we?” she teased. “It’s fun watching you squirm.”
Morgana chose that moment to drop into the seat across from them, stretching with a feline yawn. She reached for the bacon platter, piled it high, and slid it toward me with a lazy grin.
“Eat up, love,” she said, her voice smooth and playful. “You’ll need your strength.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “You make it sound like I’m about to go into battle.”
Morgana smirked, eyes flicking toward Ally. “Aren’t you?”
Before I could reply, Ally sat beside me, moving with casual ease. She sat down without a word, grabbed my fork, and immediately speared a piece of pancake off my plate.
“Mmm,” she hummed after the first bite, eyes half-lidded in satisfaction. “This is good.” She sliced another bite, slower this time, savoring the taste like it was the first real food she’d had in days.
I didn’t protest. Instead, I grabbed my own fork and started eating from the same plate, our movements falling into an easy rhythm — a quiet kind of closeness that didn’t need to be explained.
No one seemed to think twice about it. The chatter continued, the maids moved gracefully around us, refilling cups and clearing plates, but I could still feel a few eyes lingering — curious, assessing.
It wasn’t about us sharing food, though.
To everyone else, Ally was just another boy — lean, sharp-eyed, with an attitude that mirrored mine. The short hair, the loose shirt, the relaxed confidence in her movements — it all fit the part perfectly. So when she leaned over, her shoulder brushing against mine as she reached for the syrup, or when she casually rested her elbow on my arm while chewing, no one so much as blinked.
To them, it was perfectly normal — just two boys, sharing a plate, eating close, teasing each other in between bites.
In their eyes, it was probably the same as how two girls in my old world would share a drink or feed each other fries — innocent, familiar, unremarkable.
I leaned back slightly, grabbing my cup and taking a sip. The coffee was strong, almost bitter, its warmth grounding me amidst the morning buzz.
“By the way,” I asked casually, “Where’s Aunt Melissa?”
The chatter around the table softened just enough for Morgana’s voice to slip through.
She set down her fork with a quiet clink, her movements slow and deliberate. When she looked at me, her dark eyes seemed to hold a knowing gleam — sharp but not unkind, the kind of gaze that always seemed to weigh more than it should.
“She left early this morning,” Morgana said, her tone composed, measured, but carrying that faint lilt of amusement that was uniquely hers. “There was business in town she couldn’t ignore. You know how she is — responsible to a fault.”
She leaned back in her chair, crossing one long leg over the other, and continued with a subtle smirk, “She told me to look after you in her stead.”
Her lips curved slightly, her voice lowering as she added, “Though, judging from last night… it seems you’ve already been more than taken care of.”
I smirked, leaning forward slightly. “You knew?”
Morgana didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned her head, gaze drifting toward Layla, who sat quietly at the far end of the table.
Layla had been silent the entire time, her attention fixed on her plate — but I could see it. The faint pink creeping up her neck, the way her fingers tightened subtly around her fork.
When Morgana’s eyes landed on her, Layla froze for just a heartbeat before forcing herself to look up.
Their gazes met — Morgana’s teasing and amused, Layla’s flustered but brave — before Morgana’s expression softened. The teasing edge faded, replaced with something gentler.
She reached for the bread basket and slid it toward me, her movements smooth and deliberate once more.
“Eat,” she said quietly, the warmth returning to her tone. “You must be hungry after all that exercise.”
I couldn’t help it — I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Thanks.”
That earned a few knowing snickers from the others nearby.
Rod, sitting across from us, didn’t even try to hide his grin.
“Exercise, huh? That’s what we’re calling it now?” he said, arching a brow. The syrup on his fork dripped lazily back onto his pancakes as Donna swatted him on the arm.
“Rod,” Donna sighed, though her smirk betrayed her amusement. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m honest,” he shot back with mock indignation. “Come on — we all heard the noise last night.”
Laughter rippled around the table, and I groaned, covering my face with one hand.
“You guys have zero shame.”
Mick leaned forward from two seats down, his grin wolfish. “Says the guy who kept the whole villa up till midnight.”
“Hey, I slept fine,” Lindon added between bites of bacon. “Probably because I was too tired from the party to care who was moaning where.”
That made the girls laugh harder — Tina nearly choking on her juice as she coughed out, “Oh my god, Lindon!”
“You’re all incorrigible,” Ally murmured in annoyance.
“See?” I said, pointing my fork at Rod. “You’re a bad influence.”
Rod grinned. “Please. You love it.”
Layla, seated beside Tina, looked like she wanted to disappear. Her cheeks were faintly pink, her gaze darting between us, unsure whether to laugh or hide. Still, when I met her eyes and smiled, she exhaled quietly, the corners of her lips curving just a little.
Morgana caught that — of course she did — and rested her chin on her hand, eyes glinting.
“Layla, dear,” she said sweetly, “you’re awfully quiet. Something on your mind?”
Layla blinked, startled. “N-no, I’m fine,” she said quickly, waving her hands slightly. “Just… listening.”
“Listening, huh?” Donna teased, leaning in with a grin. “Sounds more like imagining.”
That sent another round of laughter around the table.
Layla covered her face, groaning softly, while I tried (and failed) to suppress my grin. Shame? I don’t have that.
I felt the mood shift.
The tension at the table dissolved into a mix of snickers and soft chatter.
The room seemed to breathe again. Conversations flowed naturally, laughter rising and falling like gentle tides. The scent of syrup and roasted coffee thickened the air, mingling with perfume and the faint sweetness of fresh fruit. Silver cutlery chimed softly against porcelain, a delicate rhythm that filled the morning.
I leaned back in my chair, feeling the hum of life around me — the subtle brush of warmth, the unspoken connections.
Maids never stopped gliding effortlessly between the rows, refilling cups and placing more food on polished trays. One of them bent low to serve a pitcher of milk, her chest swaying freely as she poured with practiced grace. Another maid laughed openly as she carried a tray stacked with glasses, her lively tone drawing the attention of a group of half-awake girls in robes, who grinned back at her with sleepy amusement.
The sight in front of me was something that could only be seen in movies back in my old world. Half-naked women wandering around without care, breasts and legs bared in a world, confidently. And no one seems to mind at all.
It felt as if I was living a hedonistic lifestyle, which I probably was. But I am no son of a tycoon, or an oil prince, or anything. Money was not needed for this dream to occur around me. And damn, how thankful I am. Viva la another world!
As I enjoyed my coffee, which surprised the others when I asked for black without sugar, they all looked at me like I’m an alien. Suddenly, Lindon looked at me.
“But it is really great~!” he suddenly said. “I never thought you’d have it in you. Guess this is your welcome to the club, Alvin.”
I blinked. “Club?”
That word caught me off guard. I looked around, and several of them exchanged glances like they’d just shared a private joke. Lindon was already smirking, but it was Rod who leaned back in his chair, voice easy but deliberate, and answered my question.
“He meant the Club we’re part of,” he said casually. “We’re all members of it. Oh, aside from you and Ally.”
I paused, fork halfway to my mouth. “First time hearing about that.”
Rod chuckled. “Well, of course not. It’s not exactly public knowledge. It’s kind of a… secret society thing. You don’t advertise it unless you’re part of it.” He took another sip of his matcha before adding, “But I assume Mom told you about The Velvet Circle Society? The one she and Aunt Morgana founded?”
I nodded slowly, recalling it vaguely.
“So that’s what it’s called.”
“Yup. The Velvet Circle Society,” he confirmed, glancing at Morgana, who pretended to be engrossed in her breakfast but hid a faint smile behind her cup. “That’s the big one — exclusive, invite-only. Age-restricted, so we can’t really be part of it. So we made our own. The Ivory Club…well, it is more like… our generation’s version of it. I started it myself.”
That made me look up.
“You started it?”
Rod grinned.
“Of course. It’s a family tradition to find something scandalous, right?”
He winked.
“We just call it The Ivory Club. It’s small but growing. Everyone here’s part of it.”
Mick leaned in with a grin, his voice low and excited. “And man, you should totally join. It’s not what you think — it’s not just about, you know, sex.” He gestured vaguely. “It’s more like… exploring freedom. Boundaries. The kind of stuff.”
“Sex? And Freedom?” I repeated, skeptical.
“Yeah,” Lindon said, pointing his fork at me. “You know how everyone acts like pleasure’s some sort of taboo? The club’s about owning it — not hiding it. You’d fit right in.”
He gave a grin that was far too confident, his gaze sweeping down me in a way that made it hard to tell whether he was joking or serious.
Across the table, Donna giggled.
“Oh, please. Don’t scare him yet. Let him breathe before you drag him into our little mess.”
“Oh, don’t act innocent, Donna,” Tina cut in with a teasing tone. “You were the one who suggested the pool ‘initiation’ last time.”
“That was for research!” Donna shot back, laughing.
The whole table burst into light laughter. Even Aunt Morgana’s shoulders shook slightly as she hid her smile behind her cup.
I turned to Ally beside me, raising a brow. “You’re not a member?”
Her reaction was immediate — she pinched my waist sharply, making me flinch.
“Ow! What was that for?”
Her glare said everything her lips didn’t: Don’t you dare ask that here. I quickly remembered why — Ally’s physique, and the secret behind her “condition” weren’t exactly things she shared openly.
“Actually, we did invite Ally,” Rod said casually, still chewing. “But he didn’t want to join.”
Ally shrugged her shoulders.
“Anyway,” Rod went on, ignoring them, “what do you say, Alvin? You want in?”
