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Fifty Five
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2025-10-11 22:46:22
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His Playmate Eighty
Julia’s POVComing back here wasn’t out of free will. It was because he said so. Because Lucian always said so.And now I’m standing here again—alone, in his room, surrounded by silence so thick I could hear my own heart beating. The walls around me were dark, almost black, yet glinting faintly with embedded veins of gold and ruby. The dim chandelier above threw shards of amber light across the floor, painting everything with an expensive loneliness.I didn’t move. I didn’t even dare breathe too loudly. My back ached from standing too long, and disappointment crawled up my skin like a rash that refused to fade. I had thought tonight would be different. That maybe, for once, I could win something.I played that game—UNO—a thousand times before. I was good at it, fast and strategic. I’d even beaten him at it when we were younger. So when he suggested it again, I thought I had a chance. Foolish me.For one ridiculous moment, I believed I could win back my freedom with a few colored cards
His Playmate Seventy Nine
Lucian’s POV The sound of the last card hitting the table echoed louder than it should have. Her eyes widened, disbelief flashing across her face as if she couldn’t process it. She had been so sure she would win. Her lips had curved in that small, victorious smile — the kind that could have melted a man’s resolve if he wasn’t built like stone. “Nice try, sweetheart,” I said, my voice rough with amusement. “But the game’s over.” Julia froze, her knuckles pale against the edge of the table. The color drained from her cheeks, and I could see that flicker of realization — the one that told me she’d lost more than just a round of Uno. She looked like she wanted to argue, to fight for a rematch, but all that came out was a shaky exhale. “I guess luck’s on your side,” she muttered, pushing her hair back. “No,” I corrected softly, “luck’s never on anyone’s side. Just strategy.” She glared at me, but I didn’t miss the way her throat moved when she swallowed — pride, frustration, fear,
His Playmate Seventy Eight
Andrew’s knock came just when I thought I could finally rest. “The Don wants to see you,” his deep voice echoed through the wooden door. My heart skipped a beat. For a moment, I wondered if I’d done something wrong again. Maybe Yasmin had reported me. Maybe Lucian found out about something I didn’t even know I did. My stomach tightened as I glanced toward the small mirror hanging beside the bed. My reflection looked tired — dark circles, slightly pale lips, and a hint of fear that refused to leave my eyes no matter how hard I tried to suppress it. Lucian always had a way of shaking me without even being in the same room. I inhaled, straightened my uniform, and followed Andrew. He didn’t speak; he never did unless necessary. The corridor was silent except for our footsteps echoing faintly against the marble floor. The lights were dim, casting shadows that danced along the walls like ghosts. It felt like walking into the lion’s den — again. “Where are we going?” I finally asked wh
His Playmate Seventy Seven
I sat there for a long time after Andrew left, staring at the closed door as silence settled again over the maids’ quarters. The echo of his words — “Someone wanted you specifically” — rang in my mind like an alarm I couldn’t turn off. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and exhaled shakily. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling. The image of that man in the mall — the shock on his face when he saw me, the way his voice cracked when he said Vescari’s daughter — replayed over and over like a nightmare on loop. I could still smell the gunpowder, still hear Yasmin’s scream when the gun went off. I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t mean to shoot him. I didn’t even know how to fire a gun — I’d just wanted to push it away from him. But the sound of the shot, the way his body fell… it burned into my memory. I’d killed someone. At least, I thought I did. And now, sitting here, all I felt was numbness. The other maids had left, their laughter fading into the distance. Only faint murmurs came
His Playmate Seventy Six
Julia's POV I didn’t understand what Lucian meant by “come to my room later.” The way he said it, so calm yet so unreadable, made my stomach twist. The entire conversation in his office had left me shaken — from the gunshots to his question about my father. “Who is your father?” kept replaying in my head like a broken record. Now, walking through the long hall that led to the maids’ quarters, every sound echoed louder than usual. The maids’ laughter, the faint hum of the wind outside, even the distant sound of boots on the marble floor — they all pressed on me, reminding me of the tension that never left this mansion. When I reached the small corridor that led to the quarters, I hesitated. Yasmin’s voice was audible from inside, sharp and commanding as always. She was laughing with some women — her usual circle of loyal minions. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open without knocking. The laughter stopped. All eyes turned to me. Yasmin was seated at the center of
His Playmate Seventy Five.
I felt the room narrowing. A skilled erasure is a signature. A signature means fingerprints. I tried not to show anything more than a deliberate irritation. Someone had the courage to reconfigure my house against me. Someone knew how to remove what I wanted to see. That is dangerous and intimate. That is the kind of wound that infects trust. “Find me a list of everyone with access.” I did not say please. I did not need to say anything kind. “I want names and alibis. I want to know who was at the server at any time last night. After that, get me the identity of the man who died. I need his past. I need to know which tendrils of Vescari survived and who is stirring them.” “On it,” he said. “And Don?” “Yes.” “If it helps, we found a partial trace on the tracker signal for Miss Bailey’s dress. It pinged for a second in an alley before the ambush. We think someone tampered with the transmission method. It is not a failure. It looks like someone blocked the signal to create a window
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