Enjoying Life With Do As You Please System

The grand foyer felt less like the entrance to a private home and more like a museum reserved for royalty.

Massive crystal chandeliers hung from soaring vaulted ceilings, casting a warm glow across polished white marble floors that reflected the light like a mirror.

At the far end, a sweeping double staircase curved upward, its plush emerald carpet looking as though it had never known a single speck of dust.

Mom didn’t let go of my arm for a single second. She practically pulled me along, her cream trench coat brushing softly against my side. I could feel the faint tremble in her hand, not from weakness, but as though she was terrified that if she let go for even a heartbeat, I’d disappear all over again.

"You must be absolutely starving, sweetheart," Mom said, her eyes never leaving me as we walked. "I told the kitchens to prepare a bit of everything because I didn’t know what your favorites were yet. French, Italian, traditional Eston cuisine... we have it all ready. And if there’s anything you want that isn’t on the table, just name it, okay? We can fly a chef in from Tokyo by midnight if you’re craving authentic sushi."

"I’m honestly fine with whatever, Mom," I said.

The word Mom still felt strange on my tongue, like a foreign language I was slowly teaching myself to speak. Yet every time I said it, a quiet warmth bloomed in my chest.

"A bit of everything is a good start, honey," Julian said from my other side. His deep baritone carried quiet authority without ever needing to rise. The silver tip of his cane clicked rhythmically against the marble as he walked, his posture as straight as ever. "But let the boy breathe. He’s had a long journey."

"Oh, hush you," she replied, though there wasn’t a trace of real annoyance in her voice. She tightened her grip on my arm. "He’s thin as a rail. Just look at his wrist! I have every right to worry."

We approached a set of towering mahogany double doors. Two attendants in immaculate waistcoats immediately bowed before pulling them open in perfect synchronization.

The dining room was dominated by a long, dark wood table that could easily seat forty people. Tonight, however, only three places had been set near one end. The table itself was covered with silver platters, crystal bowls, and warming trays.

The mouthwatering aroma of perfectly seared meats, fresh herbs, and rich sauces filled the room, and my stomach, completely unaccustomed to such luxury, let out a loud, traitorous growl that echoed through the silence.

Heat rushed to my face, my old defenses kicking in almost instantly. I opened my mouth, ready to make some self-deprecating joke and laugh it off, but Mom simply let out a soft, delighted chuckle.

"See? Starving!" she declared triumphantly before patting the chair beside her. "Right here, next to me."

She guided me into an oversized, high-backed armchair upholstered in dark green velvet. The cushion was so soft it felt like sinking into a cloud.

Julian took his seat at the head of the table, resting his cane neatly beside him, while Valerie moved to stand a few paces behind my chair. Her arms rested loosely beneath her dark cape as her sharp eyes swept across the room, ever the vigilant guardian.

Almost immediately, a butler stepped forward, his hands clad in pristine white gloves. He lifted a pair of heavy silver tongs, ready to serve from a platter of perfectly marbled wagyu beef that glistened beneath the lights.

Out of pure instinct, honed by months of surviving on cheap instant ramen and being barked at by Miller, I reached toward the platter. The sheer formality of a grown man waiting on me hand and foot made my skin crawl with awkwardness.

"Ah, it’s fine," I said quickly. "I can grab it myself. Thanks."

The butler froze mid-motion, uncertainty flickering across his otherwise composed face. A hesitant glance darted toward Julian.

The room fell silent.

’Smooth, Seth. Real smooth. Way to remind everyone you’re still just a broke waiter pretending to belong here.’

But Mom didn’t look annoyed.

Heartbreak flickered across her face, quickly giving way to quiet determination. She reached over, gently taking my hand and guiding it back to my side. Her fingers were warm, impossibly gentle.

"Let them do it, Seth," she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. "You’ve worked hard enough just to survive. From this moment onward, you don’t lift a finger in this house unless you want to."

She turned to the butler, the warmth in her expression vanishing in an instant. "Fill his plate. The beef, the truffles, the roasted potatoes... everything."

She glanced back at me.

"And keep it coming."

"Yes, Madam."

The butler moved at once, serving my plate with incredible familiarity.

Julian watched the exchange in silence, taking a slow sip from his crystal glass before setting it down with a quiet click.

"Your mother is right, son. The world spent twenty-one years treating you like someone who belonged in the background. In this house, you are the master. It will take time to adjust, and no one expects you to change overnight."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"But never forget whose blood runs through your veins."

He leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes locking onto mine.

"I’ve already had my legal team investigate the restaurant where you worked. The manager, Miller, along with the customer who got you fired... they’ll find their bank accounts frozen and their assets tied up in litigation by tomorrow morning."

His voice never rose.

"They wanted to ruin your livelihood over a glass of wine. I’ll make sure they don’t even have a roof over their heads by the end of the week."

I swallowed hard, nearly choking on a piece of roasted potato. My god... The terrifying part wasn’t what he’d said, it was how effortlessly he’d said it. Like dismantling someone’s entire life was just another thing on his schedule.

’Hey, Paige,’l called silently, still trying to process everything I’d just heard. ’You seeing this?’

[I told you so, Seth. Your father practically owns the infrastructure of this country. Stop overthinking it, stop trying to be the polite waiter, and just enjoy the premium life. You’ve earned this.]

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