Lucien POV
This morning, the scrape of a knife against a wooden cutting board cut through the quiet. I stood in the doorway, frozen for a second as I watched Mara. She was hunched over the marble island, her hair pulled back into a messy knot, methodically slicing a Granny Smith apple with more aggression than necessary.
Mrs. Dahlia stood by the pantry, her hands clasped tightly over her apron and an expression of profound discomfort on her face.
"Mr. Cross," the housekeeper whispered, her eyes darting toward Mara. "I offered to prepare the oatmeal, but Mrs. Cross insisted..."
"It’s fine, Mrs. Dahlia," Mara interrupted without looking up, her knife hitting the board with a dull thud. "I still remember how to operate a stove. I haven't been a billionaire's accessory long enough to lose
