78

Moore

Someone must have opened the curtains because the harsh rays of sunlight hit my face, searing through my closed eyelids and pulling me out of the depths of sleep. I could feel a gnawing hunger building in my stomach, an undeniable reminder that I had to wake up. There was no avoiding it. I opened my eyes, squinting against the sudden brightness.

At first, everything was blurry. I turned my head on the bed, trying to figure out where I was. It didn’t look familiar. The soft, luxurious sheets beneath me were different from anything I’d slept in before. Slowly, my vision cleared, and I saw a woman standing near the bed, dressed in a simple yet elegant uniform, just like the domestic workers at the mansion.

"Loretta?" I mumbled, my voice groggy and thick from sleep.

"Good morning, Mrs. Giordano," the woman said in a soft, polite tone. Her voice was sweet, yet it sounded unfamiliar, one I swore I had never heard before.

I blinked, still not fully awake, as I rubbed my face, trying to make sense of what was happening. "Oh… where’s Loretta?" I asked, turning to face the woman completely. Her dark brunette hair framed her face perfectly, and her features were stunning, flawless, even.

"I'm sorry, ma’am, I don’t know who that is," she replied with a gentle smile, her voice laced with respect.

I frowned, my mind reeling. How is it that Lucien only seemed to have pretty women around him? Was there some kind of beauty standard for his staff?

Then it hit me. My breath caught in my chest. Last night, or was it midnight?

I had woken up to find Lucien holding me.

No, it couldn’t have been real. It had to be a dream, some weird, twisted figment of my imagination. But as I glanced around the room, the confusion deepened.

I took in the luxurious surroundings. The bedroom was massive, no, grand, with high ceilings and walls adorned in opulent silks. A grand four-poster bed, draped with plush, velvet curtains, stood as the centerpiece. The furniture was rich mahogany, polished to a mirror-like shine, and the soft hues of gold and deep burgundy accented every corner of the room. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting soft light that added to the room's elegance. This wasn’t a hotel room; it certainly wasn’t my room in Italy.

I frowned. The more I took in my surroundings, the more I realized how strange it all felt. This wasn’t my room, and I had no recollection of being brought here.

I glanced down at myself. I was in nightwear, soft cotton that felt foreign against my skin, yet comforting in its simplicity. But I couldn't understand. How did I get here? How did I put this on?

"Ma’am?" The woman’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, her tone polite but with a hint of concern.

I instantly sprang up from the bed, my heart racing. I needed answers.

“What room is this?” I forced a smile, my voice tight as I asked, “I mean, whose room is this?”

The lady furrowed her brow, glancing at me with a polite expression. “Yours, ma’am.”

My stomach dropped. "Oh..." I let out a soft exhale, trying to settle my nerves as I looked around the room. "So I slept here alone? I mean, obviously, I’m alone."

She smiled softly. “Yes, ma’am.”

I raised an eyebrow. Had I imagined it? The dream… or was it real? Lucien holding me, his arms wrapped around me. It had felt so real, so vivid. I shook my head slightly. Maybe I was just overthinking it.

“Okay... sorry, but my dress—how did I get it off?” The question slipped out before I could stop myself.

The lady’s expression remained calm. “We helped you get out of it, but you demanded a shower, and we wiped off your makeup. You had a change of clothes and took a shower yourself afterward.”

“Oh…” My mind raced, trying to piece together the fragmented memories. I didn’t remember any of it. How could I have forgotten?

“Lucien?” I blurted out before I could think better of it.

The lady nodded politely. “Mr. Giordano asked me to come wake you up for breakfast.”

I let out a deep breath, relief washing over me. Lucien hadn’t spent the night in my room. That was something. Small comfort, but enough to ease the unease in my chest.

The lady directed me to the left, through the stairs, and to the living room. I nodded at her, trying to shake off the lingering confusion, as she excused herself.

I walked toward the bathroom, my thoughts still swirling. What kind of dream could feel so real? So vivid? It was like I was trapped in a memory I couldn’t grasp.

The pain in my body from my cycle had faded, and I realized there was no discomfort anymore. It must have been from the painkillers Lucien had given me last night. Or maybe I had imagined that, too.

After a few minutes in the bathroom, I followed the lady’s directions. When I stepped out, I was dressed in a blouse paired with jean trousers. Whoever had picked this outfit for me seemed to know how much I preferred the comfort of jeans.

The house was beautiful, no doubt. Not as grand as the one in Italy, but there was something about its simplicity that made it feel like a perfect place for a vacation. Comfortable, inviting… almost like home.

Lucien was on the phone, his voice low and commanding, his presence dominating the room.

He wore a white long-sleeve shirt tucked into black suit trousers. Though the trousers hung a bit too low on his hips, making the whole outfit appear just slightly undone, as though he hadn’t fully bothered to dress. But it worked on him. Of course, it did. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the tattoos that snaked around his forearms.

I hadn’t gotten a real look at them before. And damn.

The tattoos were intricate, dark ink swirling along the lines of his muscles. It made him look even more dangerous, yet beautiful. It was almost unfair.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as I watched him from the corner of my eye. He stood by the window, his back slightly turned, the sunlight filtering in around him, casting a golden halo around his sharp features.

I found myself standing by the window, my gaze drifting outside as I tried to focus on anything but him. His presence was magnetic, and it made my stomach tighten. How could someone be so damn good-looking?

I willed myself to look away, forcing my legs to move as I walked toward the dining area. The table was laid out with more food than I could have ever imagined everything looked rich, luxurious.

But just as I was a few steps away from the table, Lucien’s voice sliced through the quiet room. Cold. A little cruel.

"Morning, Moore."

I froze.

His voice. It sent a shiver down my spine.