Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

One thousand years ago, I was a king— the King of Scotland. Then, he killed me. Macbeth killed me. Now, I am a lonely man, living my life in the sweet town of Riverside.

***

I look through the closet, looking for a suit that wasn’t torn or ripped or wrinkled from my laziness. However, the only suit I have is this bright pink plaid suit, one Miss Charlotte had gifted me on my arrival to Riverside. It wasn’t something I was expecting, but I was grateful for it.

I’m a real estate agent after all. I need to maintain some professionalism.

I sigh, my body slouching at the realization. I have nothing to wear today.

I need to get my suits fixed.

I walk down the stairs, the sunlight beaming morning sun into my house. It felt contradictory to me, my whole body exhausted from the late nights and the endless meetings I have just to complete this lease. And now, my only suit is the ugliest suit known to mankind.

I think even my royal robes would appear better than the suits rotting in my closet.

I remember the days, when I wasn’t a lonely man living in Riverside. When I had two sons, my Thanes, my country. Then it was all taken—my authority, my throne, my life.

All by Macbeth.

How could he? How could Macbeth take it, my life and everything I had? He was a loyal thane—the Thane of Glamis and the newly made Thane of Cawdor. Yet, even with everything—even with every single thing I gave him, he betrayed me. Stabbed me. Hurt me.

I could never forgive him—I can’t forgive him. It’s been so long, way too long.

It’s been a thousand years.

If Macbeth was alive and thriving, I would call it a lie, blasphemy. There’s no way he was alive.

Yet, I’m here.

I snap out of my thoughts, realizing the milk had began spilling out of the bowl, overflowing through the top. Cereal began flowing to the floor, little donuts of Cheerios dripping onto the floor.

“Crap,” I say, my hands fumbling. I quickly put the milk carton on the counter, grabbing a rag to clean up the milk spill. I dropped the rag on the floor, the rag turning a colour darker than what it was originally. As the milk was soaked up by the rag, small Cheerios laid on the floor, some sticking to the rag. At least my floors are clean now.

I stood up, getting off my knees, wet rag in hand. I start moving towards the sink, an unpleasant feeling hitting me—hitting my knees.

I look down, wet stains on my bright pink dress pants. Visible, clear, dark pink stains stood out from the bright plaid. I had soaked my knees in my mess.

“Frick,” I said, my blood running cold. My only available suit had suddenly become unavailable, useless. I was out of suits.

“I guess it’s time,” I say to myself, my voice echoing throughout the kitchen, “I need to go find a tailor.”

***

I had made my way down the street, passing the house Miss Charlotte owns. Miss Charlotte’s House of Troubled Girls, where a bunch of children who are pregnant go to give birth. Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told. I haven’t really spoken to Miss Charlotte other than giving waves or watching from my window the black van that pulls up to the house, a girl with skin the colour of chestnut emerging from the back of that van, a bump on her belly. It was sad, most of the girls that exit those vans look not much older than fourteen. It’s unfortunate that they give birth to babies at such a young age.

However, it is not my problem to deal with. I’m trying to fix my suits.

I had stuffed the pink suit in the laundry before I left, my navy blue suit draped over my right arm. I wasn’t sure how to bring it to the tailor, if there was even a tailor in Riverside. But I would find out, make it work out somehow.

I needed it to work out, I need this deal to close, today.

I turn the corner, heading down the street. The sun began to shine high in the sky, but the windchill didn’t let any of its warmth onto Riverside. It was freezing. My pyjamas say so.

I look over, glancing up from my shoes when I notice the building. A small, petite little shop, mannequins in the windows. A tailor shop, or a least, a clothing store. Maybe they could fix my suit. Maybe.

I walk in, seeing a man with a thick black beard with gray strands here and there is alone in the shop, hunched over a sewing machine. The sounds reverberates all over the shop, the quiet ticking of a grandfather clock barely heard.

”Hello?” I call out. The man looks up, his cheeks rising and a smile visible, despite the wild beard.

”Hello, how can I help you today?” The man walks closer to me, his smile never disappearing. I smile back.

”I’m a real estate agent, and I don’t have a suit to use at all. My only viable one”—I say, extending my arm out—”is currently in bad condition. I was wondering if you could help fix it,” I say, handing the man my navy suit. He exams it, the coffee stains, the tears at the seams and the wrinkles throughout the piece of clothing. He nods, like his examination check off all the boxes in his head.

”I can fix this,” the man says, grabbing a hanger from behind the rack. ”When do you need it back?” He asks. I gulp.

”Uh, I would like it back, now,” I say, my lips tightening. He shakes his head.

”There’s too much to be done for me to wait around. I can give it back by the end of the day,” he explains. I sigh. I have nothing to wear. “Do you have somewhere important to he right now?” I nod.

”I have an important meeting to attend,” I say, my fists slowly clenching together. I couldn’t miss it, it was the biggest deals I have ever gotten. I needed to land this deal.

”I have tailored suits, if you want to lease one, but I’ll need you to sign a contract, just to keep my clothes safe. Oh, and it would be a little extra, especially with the cleaning I need to do on this suit,” the man says, placing the suit on the rack. I nod, wanting to be free from my suit mania.

”I’ll pay right now,” I say, pulling my wallet out. The man nods, a pen and sticky note in hand.

”What’s your name, sir?” He asks, pen on note.

”Duncan,” I say, his eyes widening.

”Duncan? How funny, my name is also Duncan,” Duncan says, his eyes lighting up in shock. I found it funny, how come I have never met this man? I’ve been here for at least four years and I haven’t crossed paths with him?

Unfortunate.

”Well, Duncan, I’ll just need your number and if you’re still interested in browsing to lease a suit, I’ll make sure to add it on your bill,” Duncan says. I nod.

”That would be very much appreciated,” I say, walking towards the suits. There were many suits, of various colours and patterns, different collars and buttons embroidered on them. I was impressed, but one caught my eye.

This striped, navy suit with buttons the flag of the mainland had caught my eye. It had reminded me of my favourite suit, the one I had brought in for cleaning and was a reminder of my old robes, the robes I used to wear on the throne before I died.

Before I was no longer known as the King of Scotland.

”Duncan, are you okay?” The tailor asked. I turn around, looking right at Duncan.

”Ah, yes, I’m fine. Actually, can I lease this suit?” I ask, pointing to the suit on the rack. Duncan nods, smiling.

”Of course! Just remember to bring it in good condition or there will be a problem,” Duncan says, his hand moving on the sticky note. I nod, grabbing it off the rack and heading into the changing rooms. However, I stop, a feeling of gratefulness washing over me.

”Duncan, thank you,” I say, smiling at the bearded man. He blinks, but then relaxes to smile back.

”Of course, Duncan.”

Chapter Text

"Good morning, Duncan," my coworker says, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. I grunt, nodding at her greeting. I wasn't mean, or at least, I hope I'm not.

I make my way to my cubicle, placing my bag down and turning my computer on. I needed to check my emails, waiting for confirmation of our next meeting. Which is today.

As the computer loads up, I loosen my tie and sit upright, however my protruding belly stretches the collar shirt underneath, making me slouch in my chair. I didn't want to ruin this suit, I desperately needed something formal need.

The login screen pops up, and I type my username and password into the boxes. As my fingers type away, I hear the sound of a coffee machine and two low voices speaking.

"It's almost evaluation time," one of the men said as the coffee machine rang, "how many have you sold?"

"Almost ten plots, maybe twenty housing units. What about you?" The man asks.

"About the same," Another man says, a cup falling onto the floor. 

"I've heard they're planning to fire someone. Who do you think it's going to be?" The man inquires. A grunt comes out of another man.

"I think it's Duncan, he has the lowest sales out of all of us. The sale he has right now is the only good one," another man gossips. I sigh, slowly tuning them out. I know my coworkers think I can't sell, that I won't be able to sell the deal I have now. But I know I can, I mean, I hope I can.

My email opens, the inbox full of unread emails popping up quickly. I ignore most of them, scrolling down to find the address—Mg’s Delivery.

To:[email protected]

From: [email protected]

Dear Duncan,

Thank you for your email. My representative, Macdonald Smith will be attending the meeting to finish the process. We hope that there are no further conflicts in our transaction. Macdonald will be attending the meeting at 3:00 PM, Tuesday May 5th.

Gratitude,

Svein, CEO of Mg’s Delivery

I sigh, the email giving me a slight headache. This purchase can’t be made without the actual buyer present. I’ve reiterated it so many times I’ve been drilling a screw into my head.

I open a new email tab, my head spinning as my fingers type away. It’s going to be a long day.

It will be a long day.

***

When the meeting time rolls around, I’m waiting outside the office, looking for Macdonald’s and Svein’s car. However, when my watch shows three o’clock, there’s no car in sight.

I pull my phone out from my pocket, about to dial their number when Macdonald’s name pops up on my screen.

 “Mr. Smith?” I answer. A grunt comes from the other end of the phone.

”Mr. Mac-crain! How are you?” A cheery voice intercoms through the phone.

”It’s Mr. Maccrinain,” I correct. He laughs.

”Ah, yes, Mr. Mac-crain,” Svein says. I sigh. “Macdonald and I are on our way, we will be there in thirty to an hour,” Svein says, hanging up before I argue. I sigh, slowly making my way back into the office, slouching in my chair when I arrive to my cubicle. My coworker walks by, her heels clicking against the floor.

”Are you okay?” She asks. I look up, her full face of make up giving me a scare. In no way is that comfortable.

”I’m doing okay, Rosaline,” I say, bringing the corners of my mouth into my cheeks. She nods, walking off. I look at my computer, looking at the email transcript between Svein and I, his ignorance and his lack of care. I hate him, I want to drop this deal. But I can’t, this deal is the only way I can keep my job.

My phone rings, and for a moment I think Svein has arrived earlier than one hour and actually wants to cooperate. However, it was someone that I thought wouldn’t text me.

“Your suit is washed, Duncan, pick it up whenever you can,” Duncan’s message reads. I smile, looking at the photo attached to his message. My navy suit, all finished and ready for another terrible day at the office. I couldn’t be happier.

I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for Duncan.

***

When Svein and Macdonald arrive, its nearly five, almost two hours late from our original agreed time and almost one hour late from their promised time. I feel betrayed.

Then again, they don’t show up on time anyways, they’re dragging this deal every single day from being closed.

”Mr. Smith, Mr. Svein,” I greet as they exit the car. I shake their hands, the cold wind freezing my fingertips.

”It’s cold today,” Svein says. I nod.

”Indeed, should we go inside?” I ask. Svein already walks inside, not a care for what I say. Macdonald nods.

”Of course, Mr. Maccrinain,” Macdonald says. I sigh. This meeting is going to suck.

***

This meeting does suck. I hate this meeting.

Macdonald answers all the questions and Svein rejects everything that was offered in the contract. I slowly lose my patience as Svein starts loudly munching on food from his pocket. The loud crunching noises fill the room, slowly irritating me and possible Macdonald.

"Svein, are you okay with the conditions of the property?" I ask again, my eyebrow twitching. He laughs.

"Yes, yes, why of course! However, I will need to talk to my bank about a down payment," Svein says. My jaw drops.

"I thought we already agreed on paying 3 000 each month until the mortgage is paid," I remind. Svein coughs, shaking his head.

"No no no no no, that will not do. You see, business is struggling right now, and I need to lower the payment a little bit. You understand, right, Mr. Mac-Crain?" He says. I smile sharply, my pen snapping from me bending it. He's starting to get on my nerves.

"Of course, Mr. Svein," I say, agreeing with his words. I don't. "However, I do want to—"

"Not now, Mr. Mac-Crain. I have a meeting to attend, my designer requires me at six, and since we got on at such a late time, I must leave," Svein stands up, his eyes glaring on me, like I somehow caused him to be late. "Macdonald, we must go," he says, Macdonald quickly collecting all the documents. I put on a smile, hoping the red in my face isn't there. I'm so angry at him I could punch a wall.

***

I punch a wall.

I punched my fist into the bathroom wall, the white concrete hurting my knuckles. I take a deep breath, my nose scrunching up. I hate this job. So much.

I walk out of the bathroom, my hands in tight fists. I'm so tired of Svein, pushing meetings and creating issues that drive me insane. I'm sure it's driving Macdonald insane as well. There's no way that assistant is completely okay with being walked over and trampled on. He has some skill ignoring the crap Svein pulls.\

I return to the meeting room, grabbing my documents. I look up at the clock, the seconds ticking away to six PM. I sigh, pulling my body up and away from the table. I look outside, the sun still high in the sky. At least I would leave in sunlight.

As I closed the door to the meeting room, Rosaline passes by me, her glasses slowly falling down her nose, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors.

"How was the meeting?" Rosaline asks, her eyes glaring at the papers in my hand. I shrug.

"It went okay," I respond. Rosaline nods.

"Very well, then," Rosaline sighs, walking away from the meeting room. I sigh, my lips pressing tightly together.

I hate this job.

***

The sun is lower in the sky as I leave the office, the sky slowly turning orange. I hold my documents tightly, a slight feeling of disappointment washing over me. It's been over three months, why will he not accept my offer? Is it not selling? Why doesn't he put in any effort?

I consider going into the main part of town and getting wasted, but then I get a message on my phone. A message from Duncan.

"Just letting you know, your suit is here, and mine is on you," the message reads. I gasp, remembering the suit at Duncan's tailor shop. I quickly start walking home, however my old lungs don't help me walk fast and instead I struggle to breathe. However, I push on, desperate for my favorite suit.

This might be the only highlight of my day, to be honest.

I entered the shop, the sound of the ticking grandfather clock nostalgic to my ears. I looked towards the front desk, seeing a lady who was knitting something on a rocking chair. She was by the back door, a basket below her collecting the long scarf she was knitting.

I walk past her and into the changerooms, quickly changing out of the suit and into my pajamas. I noticed the sweat stains in the underarm pits and considered going home to wash it. However, I heard someone speak, making me eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Lulabelle?" A man called out, the squeak of a door opening audible.

"Not now, Jack. I'm not done," Lulabelle speaks, her voice croaking as she spoke. The man sighed.

"I was trying to see if you were still here," He says, pausing. "Is someone in the changeroom?"

"Yeah, a mainlander. A really fat one," She says loud and proud. I frown, looking down at my belly. I'm not that fat, right?

I'm definitely fat.

"Momma, that's not—never mind," he says to Lulabelle, "who's in the changeroom?" He calls out, footsteps slowly making their way to the door of the changeroom. He twists the knob, then knocks. "Hello?"

I step out, finding Duncan at the door. I nearly bump my head with his, a weird feeling arousing in me. I didn't realize how close he was to the door, or how close I was to him at all.

"Duncan," I greet, suit in hand, "I'm not sure if you want me to wash it or—"

"It's okay," he says, grabbing it from my hands. He inspects it, noticing the sweat stains. "Well, you left it in fair condition. I won't charge you extra for the stains because I didn't tell you to wash it," Duncan says, his smile returning to his face. "Would you like your suit back?"

"Yes please," I say, following Duncan to the front desk. I see the lady again who's still knitting, her hands moving quickly with the needles.

"Hello," I greet the lady. She doesn't respond. The silence fills the air as I wait for Duncan to return with my suit.

"Hello," she responds after a long moment of silence. I breathe a breath of relief, grateful she didn't ignore me entirely.

"How are you?" I ask. Again, she doesn't speak until moments later.

"I'm doing okay," she says. She doesn't elaborate, and I don't ask her to. Duncan returns, a suit wrapped in plastic in hand.

"Here," he says, placing it on the counter. My eyes widen, impressed by the new look of my suit. I need to return more often. 

"Your total is sixty dollars and fifty five cents," Duncan says, "cash or card?"

"Cash," I say, pulling out three twenty dollar bills and a five dollar bill. Duncan smiles, accepting the money as he gives me the change. I smile, looking up at Duncan. I couldn't be more grateful for him. "Thank you, Duncan," I say, grabbing the suit.

"Of course. If you need any suits, just come by and buy some. If you need something fixed, just come down with it and I'll fix it for you," Duncan says, standing up straighter. I smile, grateful I have someone like him to rely on.

"I appreciate it, Duncan," I say, leaving behind Duncan and the ticking grandfather clock.

Chapter Text

I laid in bed for over thirty minutes, hesitant to get up. What if Svein didn't want to close the deal? What if he dragged the deal on and on, to the point where my hair falls out? I didn't know, I didn't want to know. I was so done.

But I couldn't stay in bed, no. I had to fix the rest of my suits before I ended up in the situation I was in before—suitless.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Mr. MacCrinain,

I am unfortunately unable to continue extending your deadline for the sale of 11 Riverside Street. I want to know if your offer of 1.1 Million is still available. Your due date for the sale before I close it from you is the end of the month, the 31st.

I hope you can come with a deal within a week.

Thanks,

Fiona Mcduff

I stare at the email, wide eyed and mouth agape. This is what I was dreading, a deadline on the date for when the offer was still valid.

“You’re kidding me,” I say, hands falling off the desk and by my side. I sighed, slouching in my chair, the wire connecting my mouse to the computer falling down with me.

“I hate this job,” I mumble under my breath, praying no one heard me.

***

I start walking home, the evening sun slowly hiding into the horizon. My body is sweaty, my jacket over my shoulder and sweat stains start to appear under my armpits.

I manage to survive through work, those endless emails and phone calls and meeting plans that just exhaust the heck out of me.

I drag myself down the street towards Duncan’s tailor shop. I need to collect my suits before I go home.

I pass by this pink house as a man with a top hat and beard exits the house. I gasp, realizing who it was.

”Duncan!” I call out, shocked. He looked up, his eyes wide from my sudden appearance.

”Well, good evening Duncan. How was work?” He asks. My body turns hot, my mind repeating his words in my head. How was work? That sounds like something a wife would say to her…never mind, what am I thinking? 

“It was okay, mediocre,” I say. Duncan nods, walking down the path towards me.

”Come, let’s go collect your suits,” Duncan says, patting me on the back. I laugh, smiling from the close interaction between him and I.

***

I enter the shop, the grandfather clock filling the space again. There is the lady again, sitting in her rocking chair, looking up towards us.

”Jack, is that you?” The lady asks. Duncan sighs, as if he’s been in this situation multiple times.

”No, momma , it’s me, Duncan,” Duncan says, slowly making his way towards his mother. She knits away, the long project growing longer with each stitch.

”Dinner? Is it dinner? You’re turning me fat, making me eat so much,” she says, bringing her eyes up to her son’s. ”Jack, you look much younger,” she says, trying to reach Duncan but her frail hands fail to. Duncan says, helping the lady grab her needles and getting her to knit again.

”Just knit, momma, just knit,” he says, turning towards me. “I’ll be back with your suits,” Duncan says, turning the corner and going through a door, leaving me, his mom and the ticking grandfather clock in the room.

”Who are you? A Mainlander?” The lady asks, a slight hint of annoyance when saying “Mainlander”.

”I’m not from here. I moved here when I saw a job opportunity for a retail business,” I explain. The lady nods, her face still tense.

”What’s your name sir?” She asks.

”Duncan,” I respond.

”Duncan? Well, I have a son named Duncan. What a funny coincidence. Have you met him?” She asks, Duncan appearing to the counter again, hearing the end of the lady’s sentence.

”Met who, momma?” Duncan asks. She looks up at him, her face relaxing.

”You. I was asking if this man has met you,” she says, placing the knitting needles on her lap. “I like that one,” she says, her eyes turning to me. Duncan blinks, then awkwardly laughs. I could only smile from the other side of the counter.

”Just knit, momma,” he says, taking the needles from her lap and into her hands. “Just leave the money, thanks,” Duncan says, turning his direction towards me. He places the suit on the counter and brings his mom onto his feet. “Have a good day, Duncan.”

”You too,” I say, taking the suit as I leave a fifty bill on the counter.

***

I slowly make my way home, the sky dusky and orange. I drag my feet along the concrete of the sidewalk, my body tired from my day. It was crazy, full of stupid deals and exhausting meetings and a hint of anger sprinkled in. But hear his mom say that she likes me says a lot, even if she hates those that she calls “Mainlanders”, or at least, I think she does.

A smile escapes me, and I can’t help but chuckle on my doorstep, thinking about Duncan.

Chapter Text

I wake up, my arm ringing loudly in the room. I flutter my eyes open, slowly eating the hair that has made its way into my mouth. I sigh, wanting to stay in bed but somehow, my body gets up. I slowly smile, my heart pounding with excitement to see him, to see Duncan. I couldn't wait.

I quickly grab a suit from my closet, realizing now that over half of my suits were fixed and clean. It had been over four weeks of me visiting Duncan, dropping off a suit and returning after work to a suit that had been so well tailored that I thought I had gotten a whole new suit entirely. The best part? Duncan has been lowering the prices for me, which has saved me the stress of counting how much money I have for bills this month.

I never thought about bills before. Being a king always meant I was on the receiving end of money, not on the giving end.

After changing into a suit, I grab a stained suit from the closet as I bring it downstairs with me. I throw it onto a chair, grabbing a bowl and cereal from the cabinet and a milk carton from the fridge.

As I make myself breakfast, I look at the clicking clock, the time the same as I've always read it at this time, 8:35. 

As I finish my bowl of cereal, I look at the the new box of cereal, making me happy. It felt so nice to just have a bowl of fresh cereal awaiting me in the morning. As I slowly walk out the door, dirty suit in hand, I couldn't help but smile.

***

"Good morning, Duncan," I say, the grandfather clock still ticking away. Duncan is hunched over his desk, sewing machine in front of him, the needle stabbing a small, thin thread into the fabric he was working on, his dark hands bright against the light fabric beneath them. "How are you?"

"Oh, Duncan, I didn't see you there," Duncan says, bringing his head away from the sewing machine, "I'm good, how are you?"

"I'm doing well," I say, walking closer towards him. However, the closer I get, the more I notice his exhausted expression, his tired eyes and his messy hair. "Duncan, are you okay?" I ask, bringing myself closer to him. He laughs, but when he looks at my face, his joy disappears.

"Duncan, please don't worry," he says, putting a hand over mine. I blink, my mind racing with thoughts I shouldn't be thinking of, especially with Duncan. 

He brings his eyes to mine, and for a moment we stare into each other, my face turning warm from the gaze and the touch. This man...he makes me feel things I shouldn't feel.

"Oh! Um," Duncan says, snapping me out of my trance, "did you have a suit you wanted me to fix?" he asks, his eyes darting around the room, avoiding mine. I frown slightly, but quickly bring the corners of my mouth up to avoid questions.

"Ah! Yes," I say, placing the suit on the counter. My red suit that has been stained with different food and coffee stains laid in front of Duncan, both our hands on it. I blush, my fingertips slowly moving towards Duncan's. I don't know why, I'm not sure why. I can't stop it though.

"Duncan?" He asks me as my fingers graze his, slowly examining his hands, each wrinkle and fold and the delicate details that I can't seem to take my eyes off. Duncan doesn't pull away, and I feel a sense of comfort knowing he doesn't hate this.

"Duncan?" A voice yells from some room. I immediately pull away as Duncan turns around, his face full of horror. He starts to walk away, turning the corner but stopping in his tracks.

"Are you busy tonight, Duncan?" He asks. I blink, shocked, but shake my head. He smiles, his smile the cutest smile I've ever seen.

"No, I'm not busy," I confirm. He nods.

"When you come back for your suit, I want to take you somewhere, somewhere special," he says, disappearing. I smile, my heart pounding through my chest, a smile forming on my face.

I can't wait for the evening now.

***

I look at the clock, the seconds ticking away in the quiet meeting room. 15 minutes, I think, my eyes glaring at the seconds hand. Has it really been fifteen minutes? It has, Duncan, it has.

Svein promised to be on time today, after all it took me a lot of convincing for Miss Mcduff to extend the deadline to another month, but now we're nearing the end of our deal, and her emails of urgency start filling my mailbox.

"Fuck," I curse under my breath, taking a sip of the breakroom coffee. I really couldn't extend it anymore, I had to close it today. I must close it today.

 “Guess who showed up!” Someone announced as they entered the meeting room, coffee in hand. I shoot up, realizing it was Svein and all his smugness entering the room.

”Not on time,” I muttered under my breath. With every second he was late, it became more tempting to just drop this deal.

However, that isn’t an option right now.

”Sit, we have a lot to discuss today,” I say, my patience running thin. Svein smiles—a fake smile—as he takes a seat. His assistant sits down beside him, laying out all the documents. At this point make Macdonald the CEO.

”So, why are we here?” Svein sighs, taking a large sip of his coffee.

”We need to sign the agreement, now, or else this plot will go to someone else,” I explain, pushing out my documents with a ballpoint pen on top. “We’ll start with the agreements of transfer and—“

”I’m not signing all of that,” Svein says, staring at the papers like it was a bug. I could feel a vein pop with how much this guy was pissing me off.

”It’s either you sign, or the plot goes to someone else,” I explain, slower this time. However, it seems Svein didn’t get the memo.

”No, you have got to be kidding me. There’s so many documents there. Macdonald, can’t you sign it?” Svein complains, leaning in his chair. Macdonald shakes his head, his eyes looking exhausted.

”I’m not buying the land, you are, sir,” Macdonald explained. Svein laughed, like somehow this was funny.

”Of course you’re not buying the land, I am,” Svein says, swaying coffee cup around. I pull my papers back, scared he’ll get coffee on them.

”Then why would you ask for me to sign then?” Macdonald asks. I could feel my blood boiling the longer this meeting goes.

”Just forge my signature or something,” Svein says, waving his hand at Macdonald.

”This isn’t how it works, Svein,” I say, wanting to punch him. There’s no way this guy actually functions like this, right?

”I don’t remember you being the one who’s buying the plot,” Svein retorts, rolling his eyes. I really hope his mother disowned him.

I would’ve disowned my own sons if they treated their servants like this, especially Malcolm.