AT YOUR SERVICE MADAM

Chapter 7- Sleeping Beauty

The first thing I felt was pain. A dull, throbbing ache right behind my eyes, pulsing with every heartbeat. My mouth was dry, my throat scratchy, and my head… God, my head felt like someone had used it as a drum.

I groaned softly, lifting a shaky hand to rub my temple. “Ugh… what the hell…”

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

And then I froze.

This wasn’t my room.

My penthouse had silk sheets, a chandelier, floor-to-ceiling windows with city lights spilling in. This… this was something else. The walls were pale gray, the furniture simple—wooden and clean. A small dresser. A window with simple curtains that fluttered in the morning breeze.

My heart skipped.

Where the hell was I?

I sat up slowly, wincing at the pounding in my skull. The blanket slipped from my shoulders, and that’s when I realized I wasn’t wearing my own clothes.

I looked down.

A white shirt.

Not mine. Definitely not mine.

My pulse spiked as I dragged my fingers through my tangled hair, trying to remember. What happened last night?

Then—like a wave—it all came crashing back.

Cameron.

That image of him in bed with another woman. Her laughter. His voice saying things I couldn’t unhear. My chest tightened painfully as the memory twisted like a knife.

The bar. The whiskey. The way my tears mixed with alcohol until I couldn’t tell which burned worse.

Then—Lucas.

Cameron’s half-brother. The quiet, serious one with blue eyes that seemed to see too much. The one who’d sat across from me, listening as I spilled my heartbreak like a fool.

And then… oh God.

My eyes widened. “No,” I whispered. “Please tell me I didn’t—”

But I did.

I remembered stumbling. I remembered leaning on him. And then—oh no—throwing up.

Twice.

Once in his truck.

Once on his floor.

“Oh my God,” I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. “I can never show my face again.”

I buried my face in my hands, mortified. I didn’t just get drunk—I’d basically turned into a walking disaster in front of the one man who’d actually tried to help me.

And now I was in his house. Wearing his shirt.

This was officially rock bottom.

Before I could fully process that, the door creaked open.

I froze, heart jumping into my throat.

And there he was.

Lucas.

Standing in the doorway, holding a tray with breakfast—eggs, toast, coffee, and a small bottle of pain meds. He looked calm. Too calm. His hair was slightly messy, his sleeves rolled up, and there was this faint smirk on his face that made me want to sink into the floor.

Our eyes met.

For a moment, the air just… stopped.

Then he broke the silence with that deep, slightly rough voice of his. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

I wanted the earth to open and swallow me whole.

“I—uh…” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat, trying to sound normal and failing miserably. “Morning.”

He stepped further into the room, setting the tray on the small bedside table. “How’s your head?”

“Still attached,” I muttered, which earned me a small amused smile from him.

He picked up the bottle of pills and a glass of water. “Here,” he said, handing them to me. “Pain meds. You’ll need it.”

“Thanks,” I said softly, taking them. Our fingers brushed for half a second, and I looked away fast, pretending to focus on the pills.

I swallowed them, then set the glass down carefully. The silence stretched, and I felt the embarrassment crawling up my neck like fire.

“I’m sorry about last night,” I blurted. “I’m… I’m usually not like that. I don’t drink that much, I don’t… ramble, or cry, or—” I gestured vaguely. “Throw up on innocent people’s cars.”

He chuckled quietly. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“But I do,” I said quickly. “Your car probably smells awful right now. And your floor—God, your floor—” I covered my face with my hands. “I’m so sorry. That’s disgusting.”

He leaned against the dresser, crossing his arms. “It’s not that bad.”

I peeked through my fingers at him. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But it’s true. I’ve dealt with worse.”

I groaned. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with me. You had to listen to me ramble about my stupid ex, drive me home, and then what do I do to repay you? I throw up. Twice. Who does that?”

He gave me that small, lopsided smile again. “Relax, Avela. It’s fine.”

I dropped my hands and sighed. “You’re way too calm about this.”

“Maybe I’m just used to chaos.”

Something about the way he said that made me pause. His eyes flickered—something dark there, something unspoken—but before I could ask, my gaze fell to the shirt I was wearing again.

It hit me all over.

Oh God.

My voice was small. “Um… did you… change me?”

For the first time since he walked in, his calm cracked. His ears turned red almost instantly. “I—uh—” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking everywhere except at me. “You were covered in vomit. I didn’t really have a choice.”

“Oh.” My cheeks burned.

He hurried on. “I swear I didn’t look. I just—uh—looked where I needed to. Just enough to clean up. I promise.”

For a second, I didn’t know whether to die of embarrassment or laugh.

I chose the second.

I giggled, shaking my head. “It’s fine, Lucas. Seriously. I probably smelled awful anyway.”

He looked up at me, relief flashing across his face. “You did,” he said bluntly.

I gasped. “Wow. Honesty. That’s refreshing.”

He grinned, and for a moment, the tension in the room melted.

Silence stretched again—not awkward this time, just… quiet.

He cleared his throat and gestured to the tray. “You should eat. I made eggs. Nothing fancy, but it’ll help.”

“You cook too?” I asked, raising a brow.

He shrugged. “When I have to.”

There was something unexpectedly gentle about him. The way he moved, the way he didn’t make me feel small for being a mess.

“Thanks,” I said softly.

He nodded once. “I’ll leave you to eat.”

He turned to go, and I don’t know why, but something in me didn’t want him to leave just yet.

Still, I only said, “Okay.”

He walked to the door, and before he stepped out, he looked back. Our eyes met again.

“Next time,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, “try not to aim for my floor.”

I let out a soft laugh despite myself. “I’ll do my best.”

When the door closed behind him, the smile lingered.

I looked at the breakfast he’d made. The eggs were still warm, the toast perfectly golden. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had made me breakfast. Cameron never did. If it was him, he’d probably have yelled at me for making a mess, for being “unladylike,” for embarrassing him.

Lucas hadn’t complained once.

As I ate slowly, something in my chest shifted. Something quiet but certain.

Maybe last night wasn’t just humiliation. Maybe it was the start of something I didn’t understand yet.

When I finished eating, I set the tray aside and stretched. The hangover was still there, but lighter now. I glanced at the door, biting my lip.

Should I stay here? Or… thank him properly?

I chose the second.

Slipping off the bed, I pulled the hem of the oversized shirt lower—it barely covered my thighs, of course—and padded out into the hallway. The air smelled faintly of coffee and soap.

The living room came into view, and I paused.

The sight made me cringe.

The stain on the floor. The faint sour smell that still lingered. I winced, pressing a hand over my face. “I can’t believe I did that,” I whispered.

His house was small but cozy—modern furniture, simple colors. Everything neat. For a man who worked as a handyman, he had surprisingly good taste.

I walked past the couch toward the kitchen, calling softly, “Lucas?”

No answer.

I frowned. Maybe he was outside.

“Lucas?” I called again, stepping toward the front door. Still no reply.

Curiosity tugged at me.

I reached for the doorknob and opened it.

The moment I stepped out, the cold morning air hit me, sharp and fresh.

But that wasn’t what made me stop breathing.

It was what I saw next.

My breath hitched.

My hand froze on the doorknob.

And for a second, I forgot how to breathe at all.