Chapter 77 Chapter Seventy Seven Dave Sweet in The Middle
Dave’s POV
“…okay babe, please take care of yourself. We will catch up later.” I said slowly on the phone, letting my tone soften as I hung up. The moment the call ended, the sound of Sarah’s voice lingered in my ears, settling something warm inside my chest.
It soothed my heart again that Sarah didn’t pick any offense in what happened today. Her calm reaction had washed over me like a balm after the irritating encounter with Abraham or whatever his name was. She had given me the upper hand, and she knew it.
After the incident, I had called her to confirm she’d gotten home safely. When she told me she was already home, it brought a sense of relief. I rose from my golden vintage chair in my second living room, letting the atmosphere shift as I stood.
I fixed my cigar into my mouth and lit it slowly while walking toward the balcony, staring into the quiet beauty of Marinda View. Days like this reminded me why owning a villa here always felt worth it.
Though Marinda View wasn’t as bustling as Lakeside, it was home. I didn’t grow up with wealth, so standing here now, owning one of the most expensive villas in the town, staring across a land I once walked barefoot, always made me feel as if I’d conquered something significant.
And like always, I enjoyed pairing the calm view with another kind of comfort I’d grown used to.
“Ferdinand!” I called, my fingers lightly brushing the rim of the balcony rail.
“Yes sir.” He bowed as he stepped into the room and approached the balcony.
“Order her in,” I instructed.
He bowed again without hesitation. He had long understood that this routine required no questions. My instructions were repetitive, consistent, and familiar.
One hour later, she stepped into the room.
She wore red lingerie, bold and striking, her presence carrying a certain rebellious energy like the angel cast down to earth because of the sin of fornication.
The color contrasted against her skin and the dim light of the room, making her appear like someone who stepped out of a forbidden dream.
That was exactly how I liked it.
Two years ago, I had instructed her to always step toward me like this. Elegant, confident, ready to please. She had not failed me once. Her consistency was part of why I kept her on my payroll, and why she remained a part of this private world that existed far from the life I was building with Sarah.
She approached, her movements slow and deliberate, allowing the atmosphere to thicken between us.
The breeze from the balcony brushed against her, but she didn’t flinch. She held herself with practiced ease, confidence flowing naturally from her.
“Hello cutie,” she said teasingly, her voice dipping into that tone she knew I liked.
“I almost thought you wouldn’t call for me this afternoon.”
I smirked.
Of course it must have seemed that way. My plan had been simple. Finish at the warehouse, file the tax paperwork at the restaurant, then return home and call her immediately. Everything had been in order.
But Sarah—my Sarah—had shifted my entire day without even trying. Her presence earlier had delayed my schedule, pulled me emotionally in a way nothing else could.
“Do you miss me?” I teased back, leaning into the familiar rhythm she and I had built.
Private hookers like Emmanuella tended to be jealous in their own way. Not the romantic kind of jealousy, but the territorial kind that came from understanding money and loyalty. If she ever discovered the depth of my feelings for Sarah, she would likely assume her position—and her income—were at risk.
Anything could happen if that jealousy grew. I couldn’t risk Sarah’s safety. Not with the kind of life I lived, and the shadows that surrounded me.
“Of course I miss you,” she responded, stepping closer. She lifted her hand to my neck, her fingers tracing lightly before she kissed me at the corner of my lips. Her touch was familiar, warm, practiced.
She held my gaze for a moment before stepping back slightly, letting the tension settle in the air. Her hands moved to her shoulders as she slipped off the strap of her lingerie with slow, controlled movements. She wasn’t rushing. She wanted me to watch, to anticipate, to feel the shift in the atmosphere as much as she did.
We were on my balcony, and the evening breeze carried across her skin, but neither of us cared. The villa was surrounded by vast land with no nearby buildings. I could see the town from here, but no one could see me unless they were floating in the clouds.
She let the lingerie fall and stood confidently, her smile soft yet inviting. She stepped toward me, her intention clear, her confidence steady.
I exhaled a gentle stream of smoke from my nose, the night air mixing with the haze. She moved closer, her hands reaching toward my waist as she prepared to begin the ritual she knew so well.
The tension between us was layered and rich, the kind that came from two years of familiarity and unspoken rules.
Just as she leaned in, ready to continue, the doorbell of the second living room chimed.
“Ding dong.”
The timing was sharp enough to cut through the moment.
“Come in,” I answered calmly. I knew it was Ferdinand.
There was no embarrassment. He had walked in on moments like this countless times, always delivering updates or information while keeping his head respectfully lowered.
Emmanuella paused beside me, still close, still poised. I shut my eyes briefly and reopened them when Ferdinand stepped into the balcony doorway, head bowed.
“Boss, Ms Lincoln is at the gate. Should we let her in?”
My entire body stilled.
Ms Lincoln only meant one person.
Sarah.
My Sarah.
She was at the gate.
Why was she here?
I had just spoken to her on the phone… hadn’t I?