AUBURN DISTRICT, CLARE IN IRELAND; LUTTRELLSTOWN CASTLE RESORT (GYM)...6:30 AM.
Sweat dripped from Madden's honey-toned body as he powered through another round of his early morning workout. He stepped off the treadmill, chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, then climbed onto the stationary bike, setting the timer. His chestnut-brown hair was damp and tousled, sticking to his forehead in messy clumps that only made him look more charming,devastatingly so.
He wore nothing but a pair of black boxers. His bare chest glistened under the low gym lights, slick with sweat, sculpted like it had been carved by hand. There was no denying it,he looked hot. Dangerous even.
But Madden wasn't trying to bulk up. A few lifts with the weights,five reps and done,was all he needed. He wasn't building muscle. He was sculpting abs worth dying for.
He walked to the corner and picked up his boxing wraps. With swift, fluid movements, he secured them around his knuckles, flexed his fingers, and turned to face the punching bag.
Just as he drew back his arm to strike...
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
A scream.
High-pitched. Terrifying.
It tore through the gym and shattered the calm of the morning.
Madden's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. Without hesitation, he bolted. He didn't bother with slippers. He didn't stop to grab a towel. Barefoot and wrapped in nothing but his boxers, he tore out of the gym and down the stairs, his voice echoing through the mansion.
"TY! TY! TYYYYYYYYYYYYYRAAAAAA!"
He flew down the staircase two steps at a time, panic flooding his system. His breath came in ragged bursts. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this afraid.
"Where are you?" he cried.
A soft voice answered. "I'm here."
He turned the corner toward the parlor...and halted.
There, seated like a queen, legs elegantly crossed, was Tyra. Scrolling through her phone.
Perfectly fine.
Madden stared, confused and breathless, unsure if he was hallucinating. Tyra glanced up, her face brightening.
"Oh, big bro, you're here!" she said sweetly, hopping up and strolling toward the kitchen.
Madden blinked, still stunned. "What the hell happened? Why did you scream?"
Tyra turned, smiling like sunshine. "I just needed you to come down for breakfast."
Madden's eyes widened in disbelief. "You what?"
"I knew you wouldn't come out on time if I asked nicely," she said, blinking her bright blue eyes with mock innocence.
"You scared me half to death!" he snapped, jaw clenching. "That's not how you call someone for breakfast!"
She only smiled.
He rolled his eyes and turned to go back to the gym, muttering under his breath.
But Tyra was already in his path, blocking him like a tiny human shield. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"You're unwell, and you're overworking yourself. Do you want to injure yourself?"
Madden raised a brow. "How exactly am I unwell?"
She shrugged. "Your face says it all."
He touched his cheek instinctively. "I'm perfectly fine. Stop spouting nonsense."
"I'm not spouting anything," she pouted.
He tried stepping around her again, but she blocked him once more. "Your face isn't saying 'hot and sexy' anymore. It's saying 'exhausted, overworked, barely functioning.'"
"You're being dramatic."
"Am I?" She humphed and grabbed his wrist, dragging him toward the kitchen. "No more gym. You're going to sit your fine ass down and eat."
"I just need to finish..."
"Is working out more important than your health?" she snapped, smacking his arm.
"I'm keeping my body fit," he argued.
She rolled her eyes. "If you drop dead, will anyone care how fit your abs are?"
That shut him up. Briefly.
"So what...you're banning me from working out now?"
"Exactly. Today you'll eat, sleep, and poop."
Madden stared at her, horrified. "Did you just say..."
"Poop." She repeated, smiling wickedly.
"I have to go to work," he muttered, trying to change the subject.
"On a weekend?" she challenged, narrowing her eyes.
"There's a lot of work pending...wait, did I say a lot? I meant lotsssss of work," he exaggerated, waving his arms dramatically.
"Like I said; eat, sleep, poop."
"I can't work out. I can't go to work. This is psychological warfare," he groaned.
"It's for your own good, big bro."
He gave her a sharp look. "You enjoy this, don't you?"
She chuckled and pushed him toward the dining room.
"Wait... is Chef Mama around?" he asked, slowing.
"No."
He stopped in his tracks, suspicion dawning. "You… cooked?"
Tyra smacked his arm hard. "So?"
"I need to poop," he said, turning immediately.
Tyra scoffed in disbelief;complete disbelief "You're running because you don't want to eat my food? You're a terrible brother!"
"Dead serious."
She rolled her eyes so far back they almost disappeared. "Relax. I ordered it."
Madden narrowed his eyes. "Which restaurant opens this early?"
"You don't believe me?" She puffed her cheeks and began to sniff dramatically, eyes glistening with pretend tears.
Madden panicked. "Okay, okay. I believe you."
She sniffed again, then opened her mouth to respond, but he cut in.
"But I really need to..."
"Poop?" she snapped.
"Freshen up," he corrected with a tight smile.
"Not part of the options," she shot back.
"Ty, I'm drenched. I feel gross. Let me shower."
She crossed her arms, then relented. "Fine. But I'm coming with you."
He stared. "Are you okay?"
"I'm not following you into the bathroom. Just your room. I don't trust you not to sneak back to the gym."
"Then wait downstairs."
"Nope."
"Why are you like this?" he muttered.
"You're the one who raised me this way."
He groaned, heading toward the elevator. She followed. He hit the top floor button, then poked her forehead.
"You never give up."
"I learned from the best."
Madden spent nearly an hour in the bathroom,intentionally. Tyra waited patiently outside, arms crossed, smirking to herself.
When he finally emerged, clean and refreshed in a loose t-shirt and pants, he looked better. Still tired,but a different kind of tired. Softer.
"Did I make you wait too long?" he asked, stepping on her toes playfully.
Tyra rolled her eyes and walked away. He followed.
"The food might be cold. We should just wait for Chef Mama," he suggested slyly.
"She's here."
"She is?" His face lit up.
"Yeah. I told her to microwave the food you're so afraid of."
He groaned. She was always a step ahead.
When they reached the dining room, the food actually looked decent. He looked at her uneasily,but the food had one sweet aroma and maybe,just maybe she really ordered the food.
He sat and picked up his cutlery with hesitant grace.
Tyra watched him closely, biting her lip to stifle a grin.
He took a bite of steak.
Chewed.
Spat it out instantly.
His face twisted in horror.
Burnt. Too salty. Too spicy. Too oily. Too… sweet?
He narrowed his eyes.
Only one person cooked that way.
"TYRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"