His Debt. My Body.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: DISTRACTIONS AND DEFENSES

Lisa POV

I made a promise to myself.

A very firm, unshakable promise.

Stay away from Raymond.

It wasn’t hard to imagine why that would drive him insane. The thought made a small smirk creep onto my lips. He might be cold, controlling, devilishly composed—but there was one thing he couldn’t control: me choosing to ignore him.

I set out that morning with determination. First, I would survive the mansion. Second, I would make allies. Third… I would make sure Raymond Killson didn’t find my life amusing in any way he wanted.

The maids were surprisingly welcoming. At first, I thought they’d treat me like some spoiled guest or the owner’s plaything. But instead, they laughed at my jokes, whispered gossip, and even let me in on their secret complaints about the mansion—like the old chandelier in the east wing that was probably going to fall any day.

“You’re funny,” one of them whispered as we sat peeling vegetables in the kitchen. “Most people around here are scared stiff.”

“Funny?” I said, leaning on the counter. “Me? Don’t get your hopes up—I’m only surviving.”

They laughed. And just like that, I felt… normal. Not a property, not a debt, not the center of some calculated game. Just Lisa.

We shared stories. I talked about my little sister Lila, and they gushed over how clever she must be. I thought of her laughing, running through our cramped apartment back home, and a pang of longing struck me. I cursed my parents again under my breath. They better enjoy this debt-free life while my sister misses me.

One of the maids, a feisty girl named Mariam, poked me with a carrot. “So, what’s your plan, Lisa? You staying cooped up in that east wing all day, thinking about your ‘owner’?”

I laughed dryly. “Owner? Ha. That’s a laugh. No, I’m staying away. Strictly staying away.”

Mariam raised an eyebrow. “Good luck. That man doesn’t handle ignoring well. You’re going to drive him crazy.”

I shrugged, smirking. “Let him try.”

It felt good, almost empowering, to have a small rebellion tucked in my pocket. Maybe a tiny rebellion, but still mine.

Hours passed, and I found myself moving through the mansion almost forgetting the owner entirely.

We gossiped, we teased, we laughed at ridiculous things—like the way the silver spoons all had names engraved on them as if the mansion expected them to mind their own dignity.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew Raymond was watching. Maybe not literally, but I could feel it—the tension under the calm that always seemed to follow me around him.

And that made me laugh even harder.

He thinks he owns me. He thinks one night, one claim, will make me bend. He’s about to learn… stubbornness is my specialty.

By afternoon, I was exhausted from laughing, peeling vegetables, and dodging the occasional overly polite lecture from the head maid about proper posture and grace while walking through the halls.

I flopped onto a small couch near the window, staring out at the sprawling gardens. The sun hit my face, warm and inviting. I allowed myself a moment of peace, knowing I had carved out my own little corner of freedom.

And in that moment, I promised again—quietly, under my breath—that I wouldn’t let Raymond control me, at least not willingly. I would joke, I would bond, I would survive. And if he went crazy trying to assert his dominance? Well… that was his problem.

For the first time since arriving in this mansion, I felt like I had space. Space to breathe. Space to laugh. Space to exist.

And space to drive Raymond Killson absolutely insane.