Gilded Obsession

COMFORTS

The soft click of the front door signaled Lucilla’s return. Albert, seated on the couch, glanced up from his laptop just as she stepped inside. Before he could get a word out, she walked straight into his open arms, sinking into him with a weary sigh.

“Baby, I’m exhausted,” she murmured against his chest.

Albert wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Long day?”

She nodded; her face still buried against him. “Meetings back-to-back. Paperwork piling up. And don’t get me started on my boss. He’s on some power trip this week.”

He chuckled softly, rubbing her back in slow circles. “Sounds brutal.”

“You have no idea.”

Without another word, he eased her toward the couch and settled beside her, his hands moving with quiet certainty as he took hold of her foot. He slipped off her heels with practiced ease, the warmth of his palms a stark contrast against her cool, aching soles. His fingers traced over the arch of her foot before pressing in, slow and deliberate, kneading away the tension gathered from a day spent in stiff leather pumps.

Lucilla let out a soft, involuntary sigh, sinking further into the couch. He worked methodically, his thumbs rolling over the ball of her foot, pressing into the tender spots near her heel, before gliding up to the delicate curve of her ankle. There was an intimacy in the way he did it—careful but assured, the weight of his touch heavy with familiarity.

She watched him in silence, the way his brows furrowed slightly in concentration, looking at her intermittently to observe her reaction, and assess his performance. She smiled at him. He smiled back. His grip adjusted instinctively to find the knots in her muscles. He wasn’t just going through the motions; he was tending to her, the way he always had.

This was their ritual. On nights like this, when she returned home drained and worn, Albert took care of her like this—without question, without hesitation. But now, as his hands kneaded away the ache in her soles, she wondered: was this just Albert being Albert? Or was there guilt behind each deliberate touch? The thought unsettled her, and she shoved it away.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she murmured, forcing herself to relax into his touch

He glanced up at her, his expression warm. “You know you’re my baby.”

She smiled at that, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Yet she fully believed him, she would always know that he loved her until he stopped looking at her the way he did in moments like these.

‘’so you wanna tell me about your day?’’ he asked.

She looked at him for a moment, thought to scream at him, then suppressed the urge.

‘’Believe me when I tell you this baby, if I tell you about my day. You’re definitely never going to want to have anything to do with me ever again.’’

He shook his head ‘’I hope you’re exaggerating’’

‘’eh’’ she said with a straight face, bringing her index and middle fingers close to touch, to demonstrate that it was only a bit of an exaggeration.

‘’Jesus’’ he sighed.

She managed to laugh, ‘’don’t worry, I didn’t commit murder. But I won’t say anything about not covering one up.’’ She joked.

‘’Babe’’ he said. His face almost cold with a sincere expression of frightful concern.

‘’that was a joke’’ she said amid a bout of hearty laughter. ‘’you really should see your face right now’’

‘’You’re a riot’’ he said playfully, pinching her thigh.

As she settled out of the throes of laughter, she wondered, not for the first time recently, if she were truly capable of murder. She wondered if it wouldn’t be simpler to have Clarice killed. She could make it look like an accident. She knew the kind of people that could connect her with the appropriate hands capable of facilitating such a thing. She would be entirely insulated, nothing would lead back to her. Albert wouldn’t even suspect foul play. No one would. There’d be no reason to.

It would also mean she didn’t have to go through with her new plan, which still made her stomach churn. It was the permanence of it that gave her a sliver of pause, not to mention the sickening nature and depth of deceit.

Murdering the girl would be less immoral, and that thought crystallized the vile nature of her plan in a nutshell. But if she was capable and willing to orchestrate one death, how many more Marcias would she have to eliminate? Because there would be more like her, attempting to take Albert from her. How many would she have to kill till she was found out?

No matter how depraved her current scheme, at least she wouldn’t be committing a crime in the eyes of the law. But she knew—without question—that she was about to commit something far worse. A crime against morality itself. A cosmic crime. She recognized the sheer irony as she reasoned, and the dissonance chilled her. The fact affected her, the cold reality of it, the nuance of the surrounding factors clearly appreciable. She would press on with her plan, she had already set the ball rolling, and she had no intention of stopping it now.

After a few more moments in silence, Albert rose. “Stay put. I’ll get you the usual”

Lucilla’s stomach twisted as she watched him walk into the kitchen. She looked at the island and steadied her breathing. Even now, when she questioned everything, the care in his gestures remained unchanged. Could a man be this thoughtful if he had something to feel guilty about?

She hated that she couldn’t trust the answer now.

She begun to wonder about the internal mechanisms by which he justified his actions. Were they intricate, a web of rationalizations? Or was it simply Occam’s razor—he was a psychopath. She shook off the thought with a sigh and a slow shake of the head. My

Albert isn’t a psychopath, she thought, she would know. He was as well-intentioned and as flawed as anyone with his capabilities. He would go to great lengths to shield her from anything that might cause her distress, especially if he was responsible for it. But he would not live down his passions, true expression was one of his defining qualities, and a major attraction when they first met. He was so real with her, challenged her, she could tell that he liked who he was and that because he did, it was easy to like him as well, if you were a decent person, it carried so effortlessly in his manner and immediately registered with her.

Albert returned with a large green mug of cold almond milk. The condensation had begun to dissolve into beads that now trickled down slowly. The words ‘’what the h*ll are you waiting for’’ curved across its body in bold cursive. He handed her the mug and settled beside her. She took a sip, the coolness soothing her dry throat. He never messed up the amount of cinnamon, always so precise. He draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. And just like that, she let herself sink into the comfort of him.

There was no way she would give up this or let anyone else take it from her, she would have to be clinically insane to. He never faltered in his affection and unlike a lot of twenty-first century men, he never nagged. She thought of him and thought of peace.

Later that night, nestled in bed, Lucilla rested her head against his chest, tracing light patterns on his skin as she usually did. The silence between them stretched, thick with the weight of unspoken thoughts.

Finally, she spoke. “Have you given more thought to me helping you secure funding for expansion?”

Albert exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I think it’s a good idea.”

Lucilla’s fingers stilled for a fraction of a second before resuming their absentminded tracing. She had been so certain he would agree, but now, a different thought took root. Is this guilt talking?

Albert, meanwhile, stared at the ceiling, his own thoughts swirling. He knew how significant this was—accepting Lucilla’s help meant tying her even more deeply into his business, into his life. But was his agreement purely pragmatic, or was there some subconscious guilt nudging him toward saying yes? He frowned at the thought. No. It wasn’t guilt. He loved her. He adored her.

Lucilla was sharp, loyal, and his equal in every way. Expanding together made sense.

Lucilla’s lips curled into a small smile, though she wasn’t sure if it was out of satisfaction or something more bittersweet. If he was motivated by guilt, did it matter? The result was the same. Besides, she had already set her plan in motion. They were bound together now; in ways he didn’t even realize.

And if they were bound, she might as well ensure their future.

Letting her eyes flutter shut, she made a silent vow: she would see this through. Walking away now might raise suspicions down the line, and that was the last thing she needed.

She curled deeper into his warmth, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His arm tightened around her.