Chapter 40
"What?" Samantha's smug expression instantly curdled into incredulous rage. Her voice shot up, sharp and sudden, causing a few passing maids to whip their heads around.
She immediately lowered her voice, her fingers digging into the maid's arm like claws. "Are you sure? You saw it clearly? She came out of Jacob's study again? When?"
"Just now, Ms. Smith," the maid winced, her voice a pained whisper. "Ms. Windsor went in, wasn't in there long, and came out, she didn't look too happy, but her clothes were a bit of a mess."
She went in and came out. Her clothes were a mess.
A wildfire of fury roared through Samantha, scorching every last bit of her reason.
How dare she?!
How could that bitch get away with it, again and again? Jacob's study was practically becoming her private clubhouse!
"Get out!" Samantha shoved the maid away, a lioness provoked, and stormed back towards the wing she shared with her mother. She didn't bother knocking, just burst straight into Michelle's room.
Michelle was in front of a mirror, trying on a new set of jewels. Seeing her daughter's furious, red-eyed state, her brow furrowed in displeasure. "What is it now? My little princess, who's upset you this time?"
"Who else could it be! That bitch, Elizabeth!" Samantha charged toward her mother, her chest heaving. "She was in Jacob's study again! She was only in there for a little while, but she came out with her clothes all messed up! Mom! Isn't your little 'potion' supposed to be so effective? How come it's only working on her?! Jacob doesn't even see me anymore! All he sees is that whore! You need to stop drugging him, now!"
Michelle set down a diamond earring, her movements deliberate. She turned, her gaze on her daughter a mixture of pity and something close to scorn.
She sighed, her voice laced with an exasperated, all-knowing tone. "Samantha, my foolish girl. I've told you before. That kind of substance must be administered in minuscule doses. Its only function is to amplify a man's existing desires, to lower his inhibitions just enough for things to happen naturally. It can't make a man who has zero interest in you suddenly fall in love, or even feel a flicker of lust."
She rose and walked to Samantha, her fingers, tipped with blood-red nails, gently tilting her daughter's face up. She stared into the eyes, swimming with jealousy and rage. "Jacob is interested in that woman. He desires her. So, the drug acted as a catalyst. But for you..."
She paused, her next words both cruel and direct. "Samantha, when he looks at you, he sees a piece of furniture in this estate. A fixture with the title of 'sister' attached. Without desire as a foundation, even the most potent drug is just a waste."
Samantha looked as if she'd been struck by lightning, the color draining from her face.
Her mother's words were merciless, slicing open the last of her self-deceiving fantasies and exposing the raw, bleeding reality.
Jacob felt nothing like that for her?
Then what were all her years of waiting? All her secret little schemes?
"No... that can't be right..." She mumbled, tears spilling uncontrollably down her cheeks. "In what way am I inferior to that Elizabeth! Her reputation is in the gutter, she's a washed-up tramp who's already popped out some bastard child! I..."
"Sometimes, a man isn't looking for a pristine reputation," Michelle cut her off, her tone complex.
She looked at her daughter's young, beautiful body, but her mind, unbidden, flashed to Jacob. His tall, powerful frame, radiating strength. His face, hard-edged and yet brutally masculine. The kind of man who was all dominance, danger, and control. Just imagining being pinned by those strong arms, being held by that deep, piercing gaze...
An illicit thrill, a secret itch, sparked deep within Michelle. It was a feeling she instantly despised herself for.
Unfortunately, her official title was Jacob's stepmother. Even without a blood tie, that ethical shackle ensured she could never get close to him, let alone experience that terrifying dominance firsthand.
She regretfully reined in her thoughts, crushing the inappropriate fantasy. She looked back at the sobbing Samantha, her voice turning cool and pragmatic once more. "Dry your tears, Samantha. Crying solves nothing. Since the path to Jacob is blocked for now, we need to find another way. At least we are still in the Smith family. We still have opportunities. That woman has made plenty of enemies. Lilith Moretti is a sharp blade, just waiting to be used. All we need to do is using her to deal with Elizabeth, and then we can sit back and reap the benefits."
Samantha's sobs hitched. She looked at her mother's calm, almost cold face, and the hatred in her own heart grew wild.
Yes. Elizabeth. It was all that bitch's fault.
If she couldn't have Jacob, then Elizabeth wasn't going to have a happy ending either.
She wanted to watch that bitch get torn to shreds by Lilith, to be spat on by everyone.
When Samantha left, the door slammed shut, plunging the room back into a silence thick with expensive perfume. The contrived look of pity and concern on Michelle's face melted away, replaced by a languid, faintly irritated expression.
She walked back to her vanity. Just as she picked up the diamond earrings again, the heavy, carved door of her wardrobe creaked open.
A man in a servant's uniform, but with a sturdy, well-built physique, slipped out.
He looked to be in his thirties, with average features marked by a street-smart slyness and a certain boldness.
He patted non-existent dust from his uniform, a fawning smile plastered on his face. He sidled up behind Michelle, his hands landing expertly on her shoulders, kneading with just the right amount of pressure.
"Mrs. Smith, Ms. Smith sure has a temper," the man murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "You're far too patient with her. If it were up to me, I'd just..." His hands began a rogue journey southward.
Michelle didn't stop him. She even leaned back slightly, surrendering to his massage, but her eyes, reflected in the mirror, flicked a cold glance at him. "Just what, Luke? Know your place."
Her voice was quiet, but it carried the clear weight of a warning. "You're only here, with a respectable job in the Smith Manor instead of hauling crates on the docks, because of me. Some thoughts are best kept buried forever."
The man, Luke, froze for a second. The smile on his face faltered before he pasted it back on, rubbing her shoulders with even more vigor. "Yes, yes, of course, Mrs. Smith. Everything I have is thanks to you. I just feel for you, is all. Seeing you worry so much about Ms. Smith, and having to take shit from that outsider."
He was referring to Elizabeth.
Michelle closed her eyes, the man's faint scent of sweat clashing with the room's costly fragrance.
Luke's hands were skilled, and he was obedient and daring enough to satisfy certain private needs. But that was all he was.
A secret lover, kept in the shadows. A tool to pass the lonely hours and satisfy the body's demands.
Her thoughts, against her will, drifted again.
They drifted to the man who was, in name only, her stepson, Jacob.