Serving his desires

Chapter 7

I avoided Lucian for the next few days.

It wasn’t difficult—he was always busy, locked away in his study or out handling business. The mansion was big enough that I could go an entire day without seeing him if I planned it right.

But even without crossing paths, I still felt him everywhere.

I could feel the shift in the air when he was near, the way the staff moved more carefully when he was around. I heard his deep voice through closed doors, giving orders over the phone. And every time I stepped into his study to clean, I half-expected him to be there, watching me again.

I shouldn’t have cared. I shouldn’t have felt anything.

But I did.

And I hated it.

---

One evening, I was in the kitchen helping the chef when I heard footsteps behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was—the room fell silent, the staff tensing like they always did in his presence.

Lucian didn’t usually come to the kitchen. He had his food brought to him.

So why was he here?

I busied myself with the plate I was drying, pretending not to notice.

“Mara,” he said.

I stiffened.

I turned slowly, gripping the towel in my hands. “Sir?”

Lucian was leaning against the counter, watching me. Unlike the staff, he looked completely at ease.

“I need coffee,” he said simply.

The chef, standing nearby, immediately stepped forward. “I’ll prepare it—”

“No.” Lucian’s gaze didn’t move from mine. “Mara will do it.”

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the towel.

Without a word, I moved to the coffee machine, feeling the weight of his stare on my back as I worked. The tension in the room was suffocating, but I focused on the task, refusing to let my hands shake.

When it was ready, I turned, offering him the cup.

He didn’t take it right away. Instead, he reached forward, his fingers brushing against mine as he finally grasped the handle. The touch was brief, barely anything, but it sent a jolt up my arm.

I quickly pulled my hand back.

Lucian took a slow sip, his gaze never leaving mine. “Good.”

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving the room in complete silence.

I exhaled, only then realizing I had been holding my breath.

I could still feel the ghost of his touch on my fingers.

And I hated that I liked it.

The kitchen remained eerily silent long after Lucian left. The other staff members exchanged looks, but no one said anything. I turned back to the sink, gripping the edge of the counter, my mind spinning.

It was just coffee. Just a simple touch.

So why did it feel like something more?

I shook myself out of it and focused on cleaning up. I needed to push this ridiculous tension aside. I was here to do my job, nothing else.

But as the night stretched on, I couldn’t stop thinking about it—the way his fingers had lingered just a little too long, the way he watched me as if he saw something I didn’t.

And the worst part?

I wasn’t sure I hated it.

---

Later that night, after my work was done, I went to my room. It was small compared to the rest of the mansion, but it was cozy enough. I changed into my nightgown and sat on the bed, running my fingers through my hair.

I needed to sleep.

But sleep didn’t come easily.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him—standing in the kitchen, looking at me with those unreadable eyes.

I sighed and turned onto my side, forcing myself to ignore the way my heart still pounded at the memory.

---

The next morning, I kept my head down and did my work as usual. I moved through my routine carefully, making sure I wasn’t anywhere near Lucian. It was better this way.

But, of course, avoiding him wasn’t as easy as I thought.

I was dusting the sitting room when I heard footsteps behind me. My heart lurched, and I knew—before even turning around—that it was him, I always knew it was him, he was the master of the house afterall.

“Mara.”

His voice was smooth, deep, and utterly composed, as always.

I turned slowly, clutching the duster in my hands. “Sir?”

He was standing in the doorway, dressed in his usual crisp black button up shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to show his forearms. His presence filled the room effortlessly.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. He simply studied me, as if debating whether or not to say what was on his mind.

Then—

“Come to my study.”

I blinked. “Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

There was no room for argument in his tone.

I hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Alright.”

As I followed him down the long hallway, I tried to steady my breathing.

I had no idea what he wanted.

But something told me… this was only the beginning and I was totally down for the ride.

As we walked into the study, he immediately looked back at me, it made me confused at some point.

"Did the shipment arrive?" His voice was as even as always, devoid of warmth.

I blinked, caught off guard. Shipment? It took me a second to realize he was talking about the wine delivery from earlier in the day.

"Yes," I said, keeping my response short. "It’s in the cellar."

He gave a small nod, his expression unreadable as he poured himself a glass of water.

I thought he’d leave after that, but instead, he leaned against the counter, watching me.

"You've worked here for a while now." His tone was casual, but something about it put me on edge.

"Yes," I said again, cautious.

"Do you like it?"

That made me pause. This was the second time he'd asked this. Does he have memory loss or something? He probably does, he's getting old anyways. I laughed inwardly at my little joke.

"It’s... fine," I said after a moment.

Lucian studied me for a long second, then simply said, "Good."

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, my heart inexplicably racing. Is this really all he called me here for? My brows knotted in annoyance as I walked out and went back to what I was doing. Damn Lucian. Motherfucker!!!