Chapter Seven: The Weird Maid

Lucien's POV

I stood frozen in the doorway of the portrait gallery, watching the woman flee down the hallway like her life depended on it. Her bare feet slapped against the polished hardwood, her dark hair streaming behind her like a banner of defiance.

What in God's name...

I ran a hand through my hair, frustration simmering beneath my skin. Who was she? Why was she in my house? And why had she looked at me like I was the devil himself?

Tobias has really outdone himself this time, I thought, shaking my head. Hiring the strangest maids. Where on earth did she come from?

I turned away from the gallery, my mind still churning with confusion. The woman had been beautiful—strikingly so—with those grey-green eyes and that defiant chin. But she was clearly unstable. Running through the halls like a madwoman, barefoot and terrified.

I walked down the corridor, my footsteps echoing in the silence. The estate was quiet now, the morning light filtering through the tall windows. I needed to find out what had just happened. I needed to understand why a strange woman had woken up in my house and fled like I was a monster.

The sound of soft footsteps behind me made me pause. I turned to see Rose approaching, her face carefully neutral. She always knows what goes on in this mansion. If anyone could explain what had just happened, it was her.

"Rose," I said, my voice flat. "What was that about? The woman who just ran out of here like I was going to eat her?"

Rose's expression didn't change, but I caught the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes. "She woke up disoriented, sir. She doesn't know where she is or how she got here. She was told she is  at the Hargrove Estate, and she—well, she panicked."

"Panicked." I shook my head. "That's one word for it. Do I really look that dangerous?"

Rose's lips twitched, and for a moment, the professional mask slipped. "I believe she was simply overwhelmed, sir. 

"Is that why she ran?"

"Perhaps, sir." Rose's eyes sparkled with a hint of humor. "I did suggest you smile more often."

I stared at her, momentarily speechless. "You think this is funny, Rose?"

"I think you've been so focused on keeping the estate secure that you've forgotten how to be approachable," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "The young lady is scared, Lucien. She's frightened and confused. Perhaps a little warmth might go a long way."

"I'm not in the business of being warm," I said flatly. "I'm in the business of keeping people alive and making money."

"I know, sir." Rose's eyes softened. "I know that's your primary concern. But fear can be a powerful tool if used correctly. Perhaps if you gave her a reason to trust you—"

"Trust me?" I laughed, and there was no humor in it. "She doesn't even know me. She's probably never seen me before in her life. And she's going to trust me?"

Rose opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the sound of voices from the front foyer caught my attention. I turned, and my confusion deepened.

Dante Reeves was walking through the main entrance, his arm wrapped protectively around the strange woman. She was leaning into him, her face turned up toward his, her expression a mixture of gratitude and trust. They were talking easily, laughing at something he'd said, like they were old friends.

What the hell is this?

Dante caught my eye and grinned—that familiar, mischievous grin I'd known for years. He guided the woman toward me, then released her arm and stepped forward, his arms spreading wide.

"Lucien! My friend!" Dante called out, his voice booming with warmth. "Three months! Three months I've been away, and you haven't changed a bit."

I felt a genuine smile spread across my face for the first time that morning. "Dante. You're back."

"Of course I'm back. Did you think I'd miss our meeting?" He stopped a few feet away, his eyes gleaming with playful mischief. "I've been thinking about this moment for weeks. You know what I've missed most?"

"What?"

"This."

Dante's fist came flying toward my face, fast and unexpected. I sidestepped at the last second, the air whooshing past my ear, and caught his arm. He overbalanced, stumbling forward with a surprised laugh, and I caught him before he could fall.

"Still slow," I said, grinning despite myself. "You've been gone three months, and you still can't land a punch."

Dante laughed, straightening up and slapping me on the shoulder. "And you're still a bastard. But I suppose that's why I missed you."

We embraced—a genuine, warm embrace between old friends. I felt the tension in my shoulders ease for the first time since I'd woken up. Dante was my anchor, the one person in this world I could trust completely. We'd been through so much together, fought side by side, built our empires from nothing. He was family.

"Three months is too long," I said, pulling back. "Where have you been?"

"Here and there. Business." Dante waved a dismissive hand. "But I'm back now. And I see you've been keeping yourself busy." His eyes flickered toward the woman, and his smile sharpened. "I found this one at your gate. She was causing quite a commotion. Crying, begging the guards to let her out. I thought it best to bring her inside."

I turned to look at the woman again, really look at her this time. She was younger than I'd first thought—mid-twenties, perhaps. Her grey-green eyes were wary but intelligent, her jaw set with a stubbornness I recognized. She was watching me with a mixture of fear and defiance that made something stir in my chest.

"Who is she?" I asked, turning back to Dante.

"I have no idea." Dante shrugged. "She said her name is Clara, and she seemed quite distressed."

I stepped toward Clara, studying her face. "You. Why were you at my gate?"

"Because I was trying to leave," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "Someone brought me here against my will. I was drugged and taken from my home in Toronto. I woke up here this morning with no idea how I got here."

I blinked, genuinely taken aback. "Someone brought you here? Against your will?"

"Yes," she said, her eyes blazing. "I was kidnapped. You need to let me go."

"Kidnapped?" I exchanged a glance with Dante. Then I laughed—a short, disbelieving laugh. "Tobias has started again, I suppose."

"Tobias?" the woman repeated, confusion flickering across her face.

"Head of staff," I explained. "He has a habit of taking in strays. You're not the first person he's brought to the estate without telling me. We can't have anyone knowing where this house is located or how to find it. Our staff's faces are always covered before they're brought here for the first time." I turned to Dante. "You know this, Dante. You've seen how we operate."

Dante nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I do remember. Tobias has always been..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Overzealous in his recruitment."

"So he brought her here to work," I concluded. "She must have panicked when she woke up. It happens sometimes."

"I'm not a maid!" the woman snapped, stepping forward. "I have a job. I have a life. I'm not—"

"Alright, alright." I held up my hands, trying to placate her. "If you're not a maid, who are you? What's your name?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, Gloria appeared at her side. The older woman reached out and gently took the woman's arm, her voice soft and soothing.

"Come, Miss," Gloria murmured, her head bowed slightly. "You look so tired. Let me take you to a room where you can rest. We can sort everything out after you've had some sleep."

The woman's eyes flickered between me, Dante, and Gloria. She looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, her shoulders slumped with fatigue. Whatever fight had been burning in her earlier was fading fast.

"I'm not tired," she protested weakly.

"Young lady, please," Gloria insisted, her voice firm but kind. "You've been through so much. Let me help you."

The woman hesitated. Then she nodded slowly, letting Gloria guide her toward the door. Before she left, she turned back to look at me.

"Please," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm telling the truth. I was brought here against my will. I need to go home."

I didn't respond. I didn't know what to say.

Gloria led her away, and I watched them disappear down the hallway. The silence stretched between me and Dante, heavy and expectant.

"Well," I said finally. "That was interesting."

"Interesting is one word for it." Dante moved to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. "She's quite a beauty, isn't she? That fire in her eyes. The way she refused to back down."

I frowned. "She's a maid. A confused maid who wandered into the wrong part of the house."

"Is that what she is?" Dante turned to face me, a strange smile playing on his lips. "She didn't seem like a maid to me. Her hands have no calluses and her speech is too refined. She doesn't sound uneducated.