Serving his desires

Chapter 2

The first few days passed in a blur of cleaning, organizing, and keeping out of the way. The house was massive, and the staff was minimal. There was just a butler, a cook, and me. It felt odd, working in a place so empty, but I quickly settled into a routine.

Mornings started early. I would wake before sunrise, tidy the common areas, and set out fresh towels in the bathrooms. The cook, Mrs. Hendricks, was kind enough, though she mostly kept to herself and focused on preparing meals that were either barely touched or completely ignored.

Lucian Vale, on the other hand, was hardly around.

Most days, I caught only glimpses of him stepping out in his tailored suits, speaking in hushed tones on the phone. His presence was commanding even in passing. He rarely acknowledged me, which was fine. I wasn’t here to impress him.

But there was something about this house that felt lonely.

The first time I stepped into his bedroom to clean, I noticed the lack of warmth. Everything was too perfect, too untouched. The large bed was always made, as if he barely slept in it. His wardrobe was a collection of expensive suits. Everything was dark, sharp, and controlled. Just like him.

And then there was her.

Madeline Vale.

Her presence lingered in the house like a shadow. The master bedroom still held remnants of her. Her perfume was faint in the air, a few belongings left behind as if she had stormed out in a hurry.

I didn’t know much about her, only that she had been beautiful, refined, and deeply unhappy. The staff never spoke of her, but I could tell she had left a mark. One Lucian hadn’t bothered to erase.

Maybe that was why he always seemed so distant.

One evening, as I finished dusting the shelves in the library, I heard the front doors open. Lucian was home early.

I kept my head down, focusing on my work, but then I heard it. A glass shattered.

I froze. A tense silence followed.

Then, a muttered curse.

Curiosity got the better of me. I peeked out into the dimly lit hall and saw him standing near the bar, his jaw tight and his expression unreadable. A broken glass lay at his feet, whiskey seeping into the marble floor.

I hesitated before stepping forward. “Sir, let me—”

His sharp gaze snapped to me.

For a moment, I thought he was going to tell me to leave. But then, his shoulders slumped just slightly. It was a rare crack in his perfect control.

“Fine,” he murmured, stepping back.

I quickly cleaned up the mess, wiping the floor and picking up the glass shards carefully. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.

When I finally glanced up, he was watching me.

Not in an intense, unsettling way. Just observing, as if he had only now realized I existed.

I quickly looked away.

“Thank you,” he said after a long moment. His voice was quieter than I expected.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving me alone with the lingering scent of whiskey and something else I couldn’t quite name.

After that night, something changed.

Lucian Vale wasn’t just a distant, intimidating figure anymore. He was real, flesh and blood. A man who drank his whiskey too fast. A man who stood alone in a massive house filled with ghosts of the past.

He still didn’t speak to me much, but I noticed the small things.

He lingered more when he came home, standing by the bar, lost in thought. He let the silence settle around him instead of disappearing into his office. And when I moved around the house, cleaning and tending to my work, I felt his gaze on me more often.

Not intrusive. Not inappropriate. Just aware.

It made my stomach tighten in a way I didn’t quite understand.

One night, I brought him tea.

It wasn’t part of my job. I had finished my cleaning hours ago, but I had seen him sitting in his study, his fingers pressed against his temples. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar like he’d had a long day.

I hesitated before stepping inside. “Sir?”

His eyes lifted, cool and unreadable. “What?”

“I brought you something.” I set the cup on the table beside him, my hands suddenly unsteady under his gaze. “It’s chamomile. Helps with stress.”

A long silence stretched between us.

Then, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “Do I look stressed?”

I swallowed. “A little.”

His lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smirk but didn’t quite get there. Then he reached for the cup, his fingers brushing the porcelain.

“You’ve been watching me,” he said, his voice softer now, as if testing the words.

I felt my heart skip. “I just notice things.”

His gaze didn’t leave mine. And for the first time, I saw something flicker beneath his usual cold exterior. Curiosity. Amusement. Maybe something darker.

“Hmm.” He took a slow sip of the tea, then leaned back in his chair and studied me like I was something new. “You can go now.”

I nodded quickly and turned to leave. But just as I reached the door, I heard his voice again.

“Thank you, Mara.”

My breath hitched. He had never said my name before.

I walked away faster than I should have, feeling his gaze on my back the entire time.

The days settled into a quiet rhythm. I worked, kept my head down, and tried not to think too much about him. About the way his presence filled every room. About the tension that seemed to tighten whenever we were near each other.

Lucian Vale barely acknowledged me. And yet, I felt him.

It was in the way he lingered after coming home. The way his eyes would flick toward me when he thought I wasn’t looking. I told myself it was nothing. But nothing shouldn’t make my breath hitch.

One evening, I was dusting the bookshelves in his study when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned, expecting the butler, but it was him.

Lucian stood in the doorway. His tie was loosened, the top buttons of his white shirt undone. His hair was slightly disheveled, like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. He looked exhausted.

I quickly turned back to my work, pretending not to notice.

“You’re always working late,” he said.

His voice was low, rougher than usual.

“I don’t mind,” I murmured.

Lucian stepped further inside. “Is that so?”

I nodded, focusing on the cloth in my hands. “It’s quiet at night. Peaceful.”

He didn’t respond right away. Then, to my surprise, he walked past me and sank into the leather chair by the fireplace.

I hesitated. Should I leave?

Just as I turned to go, his voice stopped me.

“Stay.”

I froze. My fingers curled tightly around the duster. “Sir?”

He let out a slow breath and rested his head against the chair. “Just stay.”

He wasn’t looking at me. In fact, he looked like he didn’t even realize what he was asking. His eyes were closed. His posture was unusually relaxed. Exhaustion was written across his sharp features.

I swallowed. “Okay.”

So I stayed.

Not close enough to intrude, but not far enough to ignore the quiet pull between us. The fire crackled softly in the background as I moved around the room, finishing my work in silence.

And for the first time, I wondered if Lucian Vale was truly as cold as he seemed, or

if, beneath all that distance, he was just lonely.