3. Luella
Chapter 3
Luella
I ’ve been here for an hour, and I still can’t believe my plan is working. I glance around the luxurious study, taking in the over-sized leather armchairs positioned by the ornate fireplace, the thick heavy drapes that line the sash windows, and the solid oak desk before the largest window.
How the other half live, I think, staring down at my cleaning caddy. It’s got the usual stuff—polish, antibacterial spray, wipes, glass cleaner and cloths. I have to look the part and that means cleaning. Properly. I don’t want to be dismissed before I’ve even begun.
The place looks relatively tidy, but the open windows have allowed dust to settle on everything, meaning I need to polish it all back to its former glory. I purse my lips and move to the desk, eyeing the door just in case someone passes by. I know Xavier Blackwood and his son are in the house, along with a chef and a handful of guards.
I pull open the desk drawer using the golden handle, frowning when I see it’s empty. I hardly expected to find evidence of his sickness in a desk drawer, but to be bare? I didn’t expect that.
Suddenly my ears prick up, and I close the drawer, twisting to focus on the ornaments adorning the desk. A paperweight in the shape of a naked woman—how fucking apt. My stomach churns as I polish her breasts, apologizing like she can feel it. God knows I should take the damn thing with me. Why should he have this after what he’s done?
But then I sense him, like a darkness hovering at the doorway, reminding me of when I was a kid and I used to close my eyes and pretend to be asleep when the darkness came. I’ve gotten good at sensing predators, but I play dumb and don’t turn around until he speaks.
His presence weighs heavily in the room, and I haven’t even seen him yet. He’s watching me, thinking he’s got the upper hand. If he comes into the room, I’ll hear him, and I can prepare myself for his disgusting attempts at seducing me.
Urgh.
But then I put the naked paperweight back, vowing to take her with me when I leave this place in ashes.
And I will leave this place in ashes.
I hear his arms crossing, the tell-tale sound of fabric crinkling and him adjusting his weight.
I swallow.
This isn’t Xavier.
“Well, well, well,” a voice purrs from the doorway, confirming my thoughts. “You must be the new maid.”
I whirl around from the cabinet I’m polishing, palm spread against my chest like he’s surprised me. My heart thumps like crazy, and I meet the man behind the voice.
He’s so tall, he grazes the top of the doorframe, tilting his head so his dark curls frame his perfectly sculpted face. His bone structure is incredible, all sharp edges and high cheekbones. But it’s his eyes that capture my attention, and I’m unable to look away. They’re a deep steely gray, but darkness swirls around the pupil, making it hard to see where it starts and ends.
I swallow as his gaze rakes over me, taking in my leggings and baggy T-shirt. I should feel self-conscious beneath such a gaze, but he’s so brazen about it, I don’t. He tilts his head like a predator, and I realize that’s exactly what he is—the devil disguised as an angel.
“Yes, I’m Mary.”
His lips curl as he lets out a low whistle, his eyes never leaving mine. “Mary...like the Virgin? I wonder how long you’ll stay pure in this house.” He smirks, as if testing me, watching for the slightest crack in my expression. His voice…it’s making my insides twist with desire, and I hate that. I don’t have time for men, especially not men who look like he does. And he's the son of a monster, no doubt one himself.
Get on with your job.
I give him what I hope is a sweet smile and chuckle graciously. “Exactly like that.”
He holds my gaze. “I’m?—”
The bastard’s son.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m here to do a job, so if you wouldn’t mind?” I gesture to the door, hoping he gets the message. Men like him want timid girls. Girls who fear them. Not girls like me.
“That was rude,” he comments from the doorway. “I was only trying to introduce myself.”
I finish polishing the cabinet and rearrange the ornaments exactly how they were before spraying the large mirror with my cleaning spray. I attack it with gusto, wiping it until it gleams. Sweat prickles at my brow, and I curse missing my workouts this past week. My fitness is slipping.
“You missed a bit.”
He’s still fucking here.
I whip around to see he hasn’t moved a muscle, the lazy grin tugging at the corners of his lips telling me he’s pleased he’s pissed me off.
“Don’t you have video games to play? Girls to fuck?” I arch a brow and watch with satisfaction as his eyes narrow.
Good. I don’t want his fanciful fantasies about fucking the maid.
Because this maid has a job to do.
He says nothing, but his gaze never leaves me, tracking my every move like a predator sizing up its prey. It’s not just arrogance—I can feel something darker in the way he watches, something deeper he won’t let slip. He’s testing me, waiting for a sign of weakness. But I’m not giving him the satisfaction.
“My father employed you, didn’t he?”
I begin cleaning the Venetian blinds and pay him no attention. But he’s right, and you don’t need to be a genius to figure out why his father recruited me above all the other girls.
One, I’m the youngest at twenty-one. That went in my favor. Two, I’m exactly his type. Three, I was cheap and came with excellent references. Four, I may have hinted I found older men alluring during my interview.
“But you’re not a natural blonde.”
I still, but then regain my composure. Fuck him and his observations. He’s just a boy, the son of the man I intend to bring to his knees in more ways than one.
“And you’re tiny. Easy to overpower.”
I bite back my laughter, and he continues.
“Fuckable. But too fuckable.”
I cast a look over my shoulder, making sure to part my lips as I widen my eyes. His stare unnerves me, like he's trying to peel away my skin and look beneath at the real me. There's something almost predatory lurking in his gaze, and I shudder before he pushes off from the doorframe.
“Not my type?” he muses, his voice dripping with false consideration. “No...too predictable.” His lips curl into a slow, mocking smile, but his gaze still lingers, betraying the words. “Or maybe you’re exactly my type, and I just don’t want to admit it.”
Why do I feel like he's assessing me, almost like one would a menu before ordering their main meal? Why did it feel like he was lying to himself more than to me?
Then he walks away, and would you believe, he doesn’t even look back?
I hum to myself and store the information away. He wants me, and that’s just perfect. Because if I can get a little father and son rivalry going on, my plan will work out better than I anticipated. Still, I can't shake the memory of his gaze. What's his deal?
It can't be easy being the only son of a monster, not that I care.
I finish polishing the room and pause when I hear heavy footsteps on the hallway, then hushed voices.
Daddy’s home.
I wonder what his son is telling him. That he needs to fire the new maid because her attitude stinks?
I sure hope not.
I grab my box of cleaning stuff and fix a blank look on my face, hoping all those drama classes paid off. I have to be the dutiful, if not somewhat docile, maid. Blank expressions and wide eyes, stupid grins and fluttering my lashes are all part and parcel of that.
But I can’t push away the sting of irritation needling my side. Colton, the bastard's son, seemed to see through me. Sure, he guessed I wasn’t a natural blonde, but my brows are pretty dark. He also said I was too fuckable, and that pissed me right off.
He shouldn’t know a damn thing about me, so now I need to make it my mission to know much more about him.
As I slip into the hallway, I see Colton facing his father, the only physical likeness is the strong jaw and height, otherwise you’d never know they were father and son. His father, Xavier Blackwood, stops mid-sentence to look at me. His gaze creeps over me like ivy, and I remember my role.
“Hello, Mr. Blackwood.”
“Mary,” he states, using my fake name. It sounds like poison on his lips, even though it’s the most innocent name I could think of. “I’ve told you repeatedly to call me Xavier.”
I think of getting caught out in my role and flush with anger, but it fools this prick into thinking I’m blushing for him.
Cunt.
“Sorry, Mr. Blackwood.” I stare at the floor and feel his heated gaze on me, and I vow whatever happens, I’m not letting him lay a finger on me.
“Well spoken for a mere maid, isn’t she?” Colton drawls as I lift my head slowly, eyes wide and confused, hiding the annoyance burning behind them. His gaze lingers on me a beat too long before he looks away, his jaw tense.
I remind myself why I’m here.
Focus on the plan, not on him. He’s nothing but an obstacle, another piece in the game.
But the way he watches me, like he’s already stripping away my defenses...it’s harder than I thought it would be to ignore the tension tightening my chest.
“She’s something,” Mr. Blackwood hums, desire lacing his voice. “Why don’t you stay for dinner tonight, Mary?”
“She’s busy,” Colton answers for me, glaring at me like he wants to cut me open and gaze at my insides.
The feeling is mutual, pal.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” I protest, shifting the cleaning box from one hand to another like the weight of it is bothering me.
If only they could see what I lift in the gym. Eighty-six kilos and counting, but my cardio has been lacking.
I make a mental note to go running tomorrow morning.
“Why not? Do you have plans?” Mr. Blackwood frowns, shooting a warning look at Colton which he meets with a bored sigh.
“She’s too young, even for you.”
They wander away, and I take the opportunity to head into the bedroom opposite.
I’m hit with the smell of him almost instantly, a mixture of sandalwood and leather. But there’s something else, something stifling. It’s dark and twisted, curling at my nostrils as it steals my breath, dragging me further into his world. I concentrate on my job while greedily taking notes on how this boy lives, but I’m surprised to find his room is unlike the rest of the house—it’s spotless.
The windows gleam, letting the afternoon sunlight spill onto the four-poster bed with black Egyptian cotton sheets. The floor is clear of any clutter, but then my eyes are drawn to the large image hanging above the bed.
It’s of a woman, but she’s naked on all fours, a gag in her mouth as a man stands behind her. She’s got silky black hair, but it’s bunched in a fist, her eyes closed in ecstasy as he fucks her. I trail my eyes down her slender body, and my breath catches when I see the guy. Wait, that’s not just a man?—
“Get out.”
I whip around, my mask slipping as I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m cleaning.”
“You’re fucking not.” Colton closes the distance in a heartbeat, his hand wrapping around my arm like a vice, the pressure unbearable. The intensity in his eyes sends a chill down my spine—he’s not just angry, he’s calculating, like he’s already imagining what it would take to break me, and I catch the brief flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.
The fucking brute .
He drags me close to him, towering over me as he grits his teeth, his eyes obsidian. “Get. Out.”
I yank my arm back, the flesh burning beneath his vice-like grip as I glare at him.
“You’re an asshole, you know that? I’m just doing my job.”
Colton stares at me, but there’s something almost inhuman about the way he’s looking at me. Like I’m a thing, not a human being.
It’s unnerving, but he’s not the first man I’ve met who behaves this way.
He points at the door, and I sigh before moving towards it.
“Your daddy won’t be happy your room isn’t clean, Colton.”
His head snaps up when I say his name, a strange expression on his face that I can’t quite work out.
“If I catch you in here again,” his voice drops to a dangerous whisper, eyes locking onto mine with an unsettling intensity, “you won’t leave.”
His voice is cold, but something flickers in his eyes, something darker. It isn't just control. It's hunger—like I'm something he’s already decided to keep.
I roll my eyes and flip him the bird despite the way my heart hammers in my chest. “Of course, you will. Bye, rich boy.”
He clenches his fists but says nothing, and I let the door slam behind me.
I move into another room, closing the door so I can hear if that prick follows me. I press my trembling hands against it, trying to steady myself.
Pathetic. I shouldn’t be trembling—not because of him. I’ve dealt with worse. Haven’t I?
I’ve not trembled because of a man since…
I close my eyes and count to ten, inhaling deeply and holding it for as long as I can.
We don’t think about that.
Not anymore.