MAD DOG OF LOVE

Chapter 2

In the car, the atmosphere is tense. Lily is behind the wheel, focused on the road ahead, while Atlas sits in the passenger seat, casting an occasional, scrutinizing glance her way.

“I just realized I haven’t introduced myself,” Lily begins. “My name is Lily.”

A smirk crosses Atlas’s face. “You don’t remember me at all, do you? After everything you did?”

Lily says nothing, choosing instead to concentrate on the road. Her silence only fuels Atlas’s frustration.

After a moment, Atlas furrows his brow. “Wait—my condo isn’t this way,” he says, suspiciously.

“We’re going to your family’s home,” Lily replies calmly.

Hearing this, Atlas grips her wrist, yanking it away from the steering wheel, causing the car to swerve momentarily. “I’m not going to sit and listen to orders from my parents!”

“If the police pull us over, your whole music career could be finished,” Lily warns, her voice steady.

With a frustrated growl, Atlas releases his grip on the wheel. “Fine! We’ll talk about this at home.”

Upon arrival at the grand family estate, Atlas storms out of the car, marching into the house. Lily hands the keys to the butler before following him inside.

“Ah, finally decided to visit, have you?” Atlas’s father, Alexander, says, coming down the staircase.

Vivienne, his mother, smiles warmly. “Atlas, dear, why don’t you go to the living room? I’ll bring some of your favorite treats.”

Once they gather in the living room, Atlas wastes no time. “Alright, what’s this all about? Whose idea was this?” he demands, fixing his father with a stare.

Alexander hesitates, but Vivienne steps in. “It was my idea,” she says firmly.

Atlas sighs, exasperated. “Mom! I don’t need a manager! I handle my own gigs, and the business side is already managed by Dad’s team. Why hire… her?”

Vivienne sighs, her tone patient yet resolute. “Because no one on your father’s team dares challenge you. How many meetings have you skipped already?”

Atlas glances at Lily, then back at his parents. “And you think she’ll stand up to me?”

“She’s capable, respectful, and understands your lifestyle better than an older manager would. Plus, she went to the same school as you—she’ll know how to communicate with you,” Vivienne explains.

Alexander nods. “Lily will manage you, so we won’t have to keep nagging you.”

Atlas chuckles mockingly. “Her? Really, Dad? Are you sure about trusting her with my life?”

“Atlas Blackwood!” Vivienne’s tone sharpens. “Someday, we won’t be around to help you. It’s time you learned to manage yourself.”

Atlas sighs, sensing the weight behind her words. “Fine,” he mutters, relenting.

Vivienne’s expression softens. “Good. Tomorrow morning, we’ll have breakfast together. I’ll prepare all your favorite dishes.”

With that, his parents retire for the night, leaving Atlas and Lily alone in the room.

“How much are they paying you?” Atlas asks, breaking the silence.

“Fifteen thousand dollars a month,” she replies, her gaze unwavering. She thinks to herself, If I complete this mission, I’ll earn even more.

Atlas scoffs. “Then you’d better be worth every cent.” He’s about to stand up, but something makes him pause, eyes lingering on her with a hint of curiosity—or maybe suspicion.

“I want a warm glass of milk before bed,” he said.

“I’ll prepare it right away. Please wait a moment,” she replied, turning to leave quickly to get his milk. But before she could move, he grabbed her wrist firmly.

“I said I want it before bed, didn’t I?”

“You’ll have to bring the *warm milk* to me in bed!”

He whispered the last part in her ear. She pushed him away.

"I'll bring it right away," she mumbled, her head bowed, hurrying away, leaving only the lingering warmth of his touch on her skin.

The warm orange glow of a desk lamp illuminated the exposed brick walls of the spacious loft-style bedroom. Posters of various bands – some globally famous, others seemingly the work of the room's occupant – were scattered sparsely, creating an atmosphere that was both raw and cozy. A tall, slender young man with slick, dark hair, still damp from a shower, walked from the bathroom. Water trickled down his hair and across his chest, his clearly defined abdominal muscles visible beneath the small white towel precariously wrapped around his waist. He approached a sleek, black dresser against the wall. His large, strong hands opened a drawer, retrieving a single object. He examined it intently, as if it held profound significance. His face reflected a mixture of longing, yearning, and pain.

A soft knock, almost inaudible, sounded at the door. He quickly shoved a thick, brown notebook – its cover adorned with a bizarre, monstrous drawing – under his pillow before opening the door. The dim light from the bedside lamp illuminated the young woman's face. Her small hands held a tray bearing a glass of steaming hot milk; wisps of steam curled upwards in tiny circles. "Hot milk," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Put it on the bedside table," he replied, his voice flat. His gaze was assessing, not warm, but intensely scrutinizing.

She silently obeyed, and as she set the glass down, the door latch clicked shut with a slow, deliberate "click". She whirled around, her expression cautious. "Why did you lock the door?" she asked, backing up until her hands pressed against the wall. Her fists clenched tight.

“You’re supposed to take care of me, day and night,” he murmured, closing the distance between them. A playful smirk danced on his sharp lips, his intense emerald eyes, like a forest reflecting a still lake, boring into hers. "Until I'm satisfied!"

She stumbled back, her slender frame pressed against the cold wall, her small hands splayed against the surface as if seeking purchase, some kind of anchor in the sudden storm. But he was too quick. Before she could react, he had her, his arms circling her delicate waist, lifting her effortlessly off her feet. The next thing she knew, she was lying on a bed as soft as a cloud, the faint, clean scent of soap filling the air.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her gaze locked on his. Their faces were inches apart, his breathtaking emerald eyes drawing her in, captivating her with their depth. She felt the warm rush of his breath against her cheek, the frantic rhythm of his heart mirroring her own as their chests pressed together. "Let me go," she whispered, her eyes unwavering.

"You woke me up, now you'll have to put *it* to sleep," he murmured, his sharp nose brushing her cheek playfully. His eyes gleamed with desire. Startled, she struggled to break free from his embrace. Once clear of his broad chest, she scrambled to her feet, her body trembling slightly, but her resolve firm.

*Slap!*

"You disgusting man!" she exclaimed, her voice like a thunderclap in Atlas's world. Her delicate hand stung his cheek; the sound echoed through the room. "Your parents didn't hire me to cater to your whims!" Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back, her task unfinished.

"Then how much will it take?" Atlas wiped the corner of his mouth, his eyes blazing with anger, and something else she couldn't decipher.

*Slap!* This time, the slap was softer, yet it burned more fiercely. It reflected the deep ache in her heart, a pain intertwined with their shared past.

She fled the room, leaving Atlas sitting on the still-warm bed, the silence thick with unspoken anger. He rubbed his face, a gesture of self-reproach. "From tomorrow," he muttered, "I'll make her stay unbearable."

But no, the resentment burned even fiercer.

She returned to her room, the one Atlas's parents had prepared for her. The furnishings were simple, light-colored wood, but the faint lavender scent from a small vase on the bedside table only amplified the hollowness in her chest. Leaning against the door, she slowly slid down to the floor. The warmth of Atlas’s touch still lingered in her memory, her heart pounding as wildly as it had five years ago. But this time, the pain was laced with disappointment and a frustration she didn't know how to channel. The hand she’d slapped him with was swollen and numb, the throbbing mirroring the ache in her heart. Tears welled silently, and she slumped against the door, a low moan escaping into the darkness. She replayed that day in her mind – his words, her actions – wondering, over and over, what if…

………………………………

[Sneak Peek of the Next Chapter]

"So you'll take care of everything *except*... *that*. Everything else is fair game, then?" He paused, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Come bathe me."