Chapter 4: The Mask He Wears

The kitchen smelled like fresh coffee and warm bread. Graham looked like he’d rather starve than sit through another round of flashcards.

Having exercised all morning, Graham should have been starving.

His stomach rumbled loud enough for the butler to hear, but he tried to act cool, slouching in his chair. He shot me a glare, as if daring me to say something.

But as I sat beside him, loudly reading SAT prep books, he looked like he was about to lose it:

“Annie, you damn maid, can’t you give me a break!”

He glared at me, fork poised in midair. I just smiled wider.

I smiled sweetly:

“Young master, you don’t get it. This is called the ‘spring rain soaking method of memory,’ a secret passed down in my family.”

I leaned in, lowering my voice like I was sharing a state secret. “It’s how my brother memorized every state capital by age eight.”

“As long as the sound of the books is always around you, your studying will be twice as effective with half the effort.”

I tapped the page for emphasis.

“If you can recite them even in your sleep, then you’ve truly mastered it!”

I winked, just to drive the point home. He groaned, shoveling eggs into his mouth faster than I’d ever seen.

Under my relentless voice, the young master—who usually dawdled over meals—showed me for the first time what it meant to inhale food like a tornado.

He finished his plate in record time, practically sprinting from the table. The kitchen staff exchanged amused glances.

After breakfast, the tutor arrived for lessons.

The tutor was a fussy old man with wire-rimmed glasses and a deep love of Latin. He eyed me warily, but I just nodded, notebook in hand, ready to take notes.

By the time the lessons ended, it was already nightfall.

The sun had long since set, and the estate glowed with the soft light of a hundred lamps. Graham slumped in his chair, looking like a man who’d survived a week-long boot camp.

Unable to take it anymore, Graham snuck off to his favorite maid Lila’s room to complain.

He slipped down the back hallway, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. Lila opened the door with a sympathetic smile, but she barely had time to offer him a cookie before—

But the very next second, Mr. Williams and I showed up out of nowhere.

We stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Graham’s face went pale, and Lila nearly dropped her tray.

Watching this pair of would-be lovebirds tremble in fear, I approached with a sly smile:

“Young master, you don’t really think the day’s over, do you?”

I let my words drip with fake sweetness, enjoying the way his eyes widened in horror.

Graham shook all over:

“Don’t… don’t come over! No, ahhh!”

He tried to hide behind Lila, but she was already inching toward the door.

“Mr. Williams, take him away! Evening study time starts now!”

I pointed toward the door, and Mr. Williams moved in, all business.

“I’ve prepared nearly twenty years’ worth of practice tests. This long night should be enough to keep you busy, young master! The sea of questions is endless—turn back while you still can!”

I brandished a stack of papers, grinning like a villain in a Saturday morning cartoon. Graham groaned, resigned to his fate.

Not until late at night did I finally let Graham go to bed.

His head hit the pillow, and he was out cold in seconds. Even his snores sounded exhausted.

By then, having survived the first day, he collapsed and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

I watched him for a moment, the tension draining from his face. For all his bravado, he looked almost vulnerable in sleep.

I looked at his sleeping face with satisfaction and murmured:

“Don’t worry, young master. Sleep well. Tomorrow morning, we start all over again~”

I tucked the blanket around his shoulders, almost feeling sorry for him. Almost.

From then on, every minute from the moment he opened his eyes to when he closed them at night, I had everything scheduled for him.

I made color-coded charts, taped schedules to his bathroom mirror, and set alarms so loud they rattled the windowpanes. There was no escape.

After a year of this relentless training, Graham made rapid progress.

The improvement was impossible to ignore. Even the cook started slipping him extra pancakes at breakfast, whispering, “Good job, kid.”

The tutor was so delighted, he stroked his mustache over and over, exclaiming, “Young people are truly remarkable! A prodigal son turning over a new leaf is worth more than gold.”

He even wrote a letter to Mrs. Whitaker, singing Graham’s praises. The old man hadn’t looked this happy since the Red Sox won the World Series.

I stood behind the young master, respectful on the outside, but smirking inside.

I kept my face neutral, but inside, I was doing a victory dance. Years of test prep had finally paid off.

Seriously, after eighteen years of relentless effort, if there’s one thing I don’t lack, it’s test-taking experience!

I was the undisputed champion of bubble sheets and essay prompts. Bring it on, College Board.

Something as minor as the college entrance exam? I’ll crush it!

If I could survive AP Chem and Mrs. Bixby’s pop quizzes, nothing could scare me now.

However, after the tutor’s latest assessment, Graham started slacking off.

He lounged around the estate, skipping flashcards and pretending not to hear my reminders. The old habits were creeping back in.

He got lazy, saying:

“Doing this well is already pretty good. What more do you want?”

He sprawled on the couch, tossing a tennis ball against the wall. “Isn’t this enough, Annie?”

“You want me to be valedictorian or something?”

He laughed, like the idea was the punchline to a joke only he understood.

I smiled faintly and shot back:

“Why not?”

I raised an eyebrow, daring him to argue. The room seemed to hold its breath.

Graham stared at me, speechless:

“You must be nuts! Do you know what kind of person the valedictorian is?”

He sat up, suddenly serious. “That’s for the golden kids, the ones who never screw up. That’s not me.”

“The valedictorian’s a person, you’re a person too—so why can’t you be the valedictorian?”

I shrugged, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

I said seriously:

“Young master, I’m not crazy. Do you really not get why Mrs. Whitaker cares so much about your studies?”

My voice softened. I wanted him to really hear me, not just brush me off.

Over the years, I’d gradually figured out the situation in the Whitaker estate.

I’d picked up on the hushed conversations, the way the staff tiptoed around certain topics. The Whitaker family tree was more like a bramble bush—full of thorns and tangled branches.

“Young master, you’re just the legitimate son of the third branch. The inheritance won’t go to you. The eldest branch is powerful, the main wife is harsh, and the old matriarch was always biased—she wanted the eldest branch’s illegitimate son to inherit everything. Mrs. Whitaker, coming from a business family and as a widow, is already walking on thin ice here. The estate might look prosperous, but only those in charge know the truth. If she wasn’t tough, she’d have lost everything by now.”

I laid it out as gently as I could, but there was no sugarcoating the facts. The Whitaker legacy was a battlefield, and Graham was caught in the crossfire.

At that moment, the moonlight was cold, casting shadows on Graham’s face.

He looked older, somehow. The boyish arrogance faded, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

“You want to keep your head down, but sometimes, backing off just makes the greedy want more.”

I let the words settle. In this house, weakness was an open invitation.

Graham’s expression turned cold, and he spoke softly:

“When I was young and clueless, I used to show off in front of Grandpa and the old matriarch, trying to outshine my cousins. But every time I did, the old matriarch would use it as an excuse to punish my mom. That day, in the middle of a blizzard, she made my mother wait outside to pay her respects—she nearly froze.”

His voice shook, and for a moment, I saw the scared kid he must have been. The kind who learned early that life wasn’t fair.

“Later, they planted people around me, letting the staff lead me astray. They want me to be a useless playboy, so everyone can relax and tolerate my mom and me, as long as we’re not a threat.”

He stared at the floor, shoulders hunched. “It was easier to play dumb than to fight back.”

“Even though I played along, I never crossed the line in private.”

He looked at me, almost daring me to judge him. But I just nodded, understanding more than he realized.

“After the old matriarch died, I thought about getting serious, but I guess I pretended for so long, I got used to being a screw-up.”

He gave a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. “Sometimes, you become the mask you wear.”

His face was darker than I’d ever seen, and the mood in the room turned heavy.

The silence pressed in, thick as velvet. I wanted to reach out, but I kept my hands folded in my lap.

“How could someone like me become valedictorian?”

He sounded small, the bravado gone. Just a kid hoping for a miracle.

“Young master, trust me.”

I met his eyes, steady and unwavering. “I’ve seen what you can do when you try.”

“You can absolutely be valedictorian!”

I let the words ring out, certain and strong. If anyone could drag him across the finish line, it was me—and I wasn’t about to give up now.