chapter 6

Chapter 6

Lisa’s POV

There’s something about being seen that feels… dangerous.

It’s been hours since I left the master’s room, but my heart hasn’t stopped beating like I just ran up five flights of stairs. The way his eyes followed me... it wasn’t just uncomfortable—it was unsettling. Not in a bad way, but not in a good one either. It was like he’d peeled back a layer of me I didn’t even know was showing.

And now, everything felt off balance.

I tried throwing myself into chores. Scrubbing, folding, dusting—anything to distract myself. But every time my hands were still, he came back to mind.

Vincent Lucas Ford Jnr.

The name alone sounded like something out of a historical novel. Regal. Distant. Powerful. And now that I’d seen him—really seen him—it all made sense. The air shifted when he entered a room. His presence swallowed space. Commanded it. Demanded it.

And those eyes...

No, no. I wasn’t going there again.

I tied my apron tighter and made my way to the laundry room. Clara was already folding sheets, her usual chatter filling the quiet space.

“There you are,” she said with a grin. “I thought Madam Mary finally snapped and locked you in a supply closet.”

I smiled faintly. “Just had a few things to finish.”

“More like you were hiding from the Greek god upstairs,” she teased, wiggling her brows.

I rolled my eyes and dropped the pile of linens beside her. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Oh, am I?” she said, pretending to look scandalized. “Lisa, even the kitchen staff is talking about him this morning. Apparently, he ate alone last night and asked why a certain maid didn’t serve him dinner.”

My hands froze mid-fold. “What?”

Clara looked at me with wide eyes, then burst into laughter. “Relax! I made that part up. But come on, wouldn’t that be romantic?”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and shook my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Clara leaned closer, whispering like someone sharing a royal secret. “But seriously... now that you’ve seen him, what do you think?”

I hesitated for a beat. I couldn’t tell her the truth. That the man gave me goosebumps. That his voice made my spine stiffen. That the thought of his gaze on me again made my stomach twist in the most confusing way.

So I shrugged instead.

“He’s... fine. I guess.”

Clara gasped. “Fine? Girl, are we looking at the same man? He’s not fine—he’s carved. Sculpted. Painted by angels.”

I laughed despite myself. “You forgot ‘married.’”

Clara wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, to a statue. From what I’ve heard, that woman is as cold as ice. Always spending money on expensive clothes and other flashy stuff. And get this—she likes to party and go to clubs. Like, which married woman does that?” She scoffed. “They’ve been married for years but she doesn’t even want to have children.”

I blinked, surprised by the details. “Really? I... didn’t know all that.”

“Yep,” Clara said, tossing a sheet into the basket. “Crazy, right? I mean, if I were her, I’d be building a little army of green-eyed babies by now.”

I shook my head and gave her a look. “You’re hopeless.”

Clara leaned in, grinning. “Oh, I’m not done,” she said with a mischievous glint. “You saw the other guy, right? The one who came with him?”

My brows furrowed. “The one in the gray suit?”

She nodded. “That’s Nickolas Armstrong. Vincent’s best friend. And let me tell you... that man is fine in a talks-sweet-and-ruins-your-life kind of way.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m serious!” she said, nudging me with her elbow. “I saw the way he looked at you when you all lined up yesterday. He didn’t even blink.”

I rolled my eyes, but a small blush crept up my cheeks. “He was probably just trying to figure out who’s who.”

“Mm-hmm,” she sang. “Or maybe fate sent him to the mansion just for you.”

“Oh, please,” I said, half-laughing, half-mortified. “Don’t start.”

“What?” she grinned. “All I’m saying is, if the master’s off limits, maybe the best friend isn’t. You could end up rich and in love and finally rescue me from this laundry room.”

“Rescue you? I’m the one who keeps taking the blame for your mischief.”

She giggled. “Exactly. You owe me.”

I shook my head, amused. “Clara, he probably has a girlfriend. Or several.”

“Or maybe he’s looking for someone real,” she said, bumping my hip with hers. “Someone kind. Someone... like you.”

I laughed again, the sound lighter now, the tension from earlier slowly fading. “You watch too many dramas.”

“I live for them,” she replied with a wink.

We went back to folding, the silence now filled with the easy comfort of shared laughter. But deep down, I knew Clara’s words would stick with me longer than they should.

Not about Nickolas—though he was undeniably charming.

But about being seen.

Because as much as I tried to push it away, the way Vincent Ford looked at me still lingered—like a secret touch burned into my skin.

And that… that was something I wasn’t ready to admit out loud.

Not even to myself...