Chapter 91 91
Lucas pushed open the master bedroom door, the latch clicking shut behind him with more force than necessary.
He twisted the lock—firmly, sealing the rest of the house out.
Olivia was already there.
She lounged in the center of the massive mattress l—black lace lingerie barely covering anything, legs crossed at the ankles, one hand trailing lazily down her stomach. Her lips curved into a slow, expectant smile the second he entered.
“What took you so long, baby?” she purred, voice thick with invitation. She uncrossed her legs slowly, letting them fall open just enough to make her meaning unmistakable. “I’ve been waiting… dripping… thinking about how you’re gonna fuck me senseless tonight.”
Lucas didn’t look at her.
He walked straight past the bed—didn’t even pause—toward the small desk in the corner where his laptop still sat open from earlier.
“Liv,” he said, voice flat, tired. “Go to sleep.”
Olivia’s smile faltered for half a second.
She propped herself up on her elbows, breasts spilling forward against the lace.
“Excuse me?”
“I said go to sleep.” He didn’t turn around—kept his back to her while he woke the laptop screen. “I’ve got work to do.”
Olivia let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“You’re joking.” She slid off the bed, bare feet silent on the carpet as she crossed to him. Her arms slipped around his waist from behind, breasts pressing against his back, lips brushing the nape of his neck. “Come on… you’ve been tense all day. Let me fix it. I’ll get on my knees right here… suck you until you forget your own name… then ride you until you come so hard you see stars. You know I’m the only one who can make you lose control like that.”
Lucas’s shoulders stiffened.
He reached down—gently —pried her hands off his waist, and stepped sideways out of her embrace.
“I’m not in the mood, Olivia.”
She stared at him—smile gone, eyes narrowing.
“You’re not in the mood?” she repeated slowly, like she was tasting something bitter. “Since when are you not in the mood for me? You were hard as steel in the living room earlier. You ripped my panties off. You were ready to fuck me against the wall.”
Lucas finally turned—expression closed.
“That was earlier.”
Olivia’s laugh was sharp this time—hurt masked as mockery.
“Ohhh. I see. The little nanny walked in, cracked a plate, and suddenly you’ve got a conscience?” She stepped closer again, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “You were going to fuck me right there—right in front of her—and now you’re brushing me off because she looked sad? Because she dropped a dish like a clumsy maid?”
Lucas’s jaw clenched.
“Go to bed, Liv.”
She searched his face—looking for the crack, the weakness, the man who used to fold the second she touched him.
She found nothing.
Olivia stepped back—slowly—arms crossing over her chest like armor.
“Fine,” she said quietly. “Work. Whatever.”
She turned, walked to the bed, and slid under the covers—back to him—pulling the sheet up to her chin.
Lucas watched her for a long second.
Then he sat at the desk, opened a random spreadsheet he had no intention of reading, and stared at the glowing screen until his eyes burned.
He didn’t work.
He just sat there—listening to Olivia’s breathing slowly even out into fake sleep—while the words he’d said to Blair in the hallway echoed louder than anything Olivia had just offered.
The next morning—Sunday—began with the usual quiet hum of the mansion waking up.
Mave was already downstairs with Eleanor, eating pancakes and chattering about school. Blair had been up since 6 a.m., folding laundry in the east wing utility room, trying to stay invisible.
A sharp knock on her door startled her.
Clara—the young maid from before—stood in the hallway, expression apologetic.
“Mrs. Patricia Brooks requests that you personally serve coffee to each family member’s room this morning,” Clara said quietly. “She said… ‘Tell Blair to do it. She needs to earn her keep.’ I’m sorry.”
Blair’s stomach twisted, but she nodded once.
“I’ll be right there.”
She changed quickly into the plain black pants and white blouse the staff uniform guidelines required for “household assistants,” pulled her hair into a neat low bun, and headed to the kitchen.
She prepared the tray herself—black coffee for Lucas (no sugar), cappuccino with oat milk for Patricia, herbal tea for Eleanor, and a small espresso for Olivia. She added small silver spoons, linen napkins, and a single white rose in a bud vase on each saucer—small touches she couldn’t help making.
Then she started the rounds.
First: Eleanor’s suite.
Eleanor accepted the tray with a gentle smile and a quiet “Thank you, dear.” No judgment. Just warmth.
Second: Patricia’s guest suite.
Patricia was already dressed—silk blouse, pearls, hair perfect even at 8 a.m. She took the coffee without looking up from her tablet.
“Set it there,” she said coolly. “And next time, don’t slouch. You’re representing the household now.”
Blair set the tray down, murmured “Yes, ma’am,” and left.
Third: Olivia and Lucas’s master suite.
She knocked once—soft.
“Come in,” Olivia called, voice lazy and satisfied.
Blair pushed the door open.
Olivia lay sprawled in the center of the rumpled bed—naked except for the sheet draped artfully across her hips, hair wild, lips swollen, a fresh hickey blooming on her collarbone.
Lucas stood at the dresser in nothing but black boxer briefs, back to the door, still damp from the shower. His shoulders were relaxed in a way Blair hadn’t seen in days.
Olivia propped herself up on one elbow, smiling like a cat with cream.
“Well, look who it is. The coffee girl.”
Blair kept her eyes on the tray—set it carefully on the bedside table.
“Black coffee for Mr. Brooks. Espresso for you.”
Olivia stretched languidly, letting the sheet slip lower and whispering mischievously to Blair.
“Thank you, darling. Lucas was so good to me last night. He fucked me for hours… came inside me twice. Then he held me after—kissed my neck, told me how much he needed me, how perfect I feel around him. He even ran me a bath and washed my hair. Real aftercare. The kind only a man who’s obsessed gives.”
Lucas turned then—expression blank—towel slung over his shoulder.
He walked over, took the coffee cup without looking at Blair, sipped once.
“Looks fine,” he said flatly. Then—deliberately—he leaned down and kissed Olivia slow and deep right in front of her—hand cupping the back of her neck, tongue sliding against hers in a way that was meant to be seen.
Olivia moaned softly into his mouth, fingers threading into his damp hair.
When he pulled back, he brushed a thumb over her swollen lower lip.
“Stay in bed,” he murmured to her—softly. “I’ll be back after my call.”
Olivia smiled up at him—then flashed her eyes to Blair.
“You can go now, sweetheart. We’re done with the service.”
Blair stood there—tray still in her hands—face pale, breathing shallow.
She Just nodded once—and turned to leave.
Lucas watched her go—back straight, steps even—until the door
clicked shut behind her.
Then he stepped away from the bed.
“Get dressed, Liv,” he said quietly. “I have work.”
Olivia’s smile vanished.
“What?”