Shattered thoughts

Lucien leaned back in his leather chair, the office dim except for the slice of morning light spilling across his desk. The night before replayed in his head like a broken reel of film, flashes out of order, blurred at the edges, but impossible to ignore.

A hand gripping his shoulder. The taste of skin. A soft voice gasping his name.

He closed his eyes briefly, his jaw tightening. This wasn’t clarity. Lucien relied on clarity, whether in business or blood. He remembered every deal, every betrayal, every bullet. But this… this was fractured.

His gaze cut to the crystal decanter on his desk, the whiskey inside still half-full. He remembered the glass in his hand, yes. But he also remembered the shift in his body, the heat that had taken root too fast, too strong. His hunger had not been his own.

His fists clenched on the armrests, tendons taut. Someone had tampered with him. He could feel it in his bones. That wasn’t paranoia. That was fact.

And yet, no matter how he tried to pull the threads apart, there was one undeniable truth: he had taken Maya.

The thought made his pulse hammer once, hard. A maid. Untouched. His maid.

The image of her, hair tousled, lips parted in surrender, rose unbidden, pulling a sound from deep in his chest he forced back down. Fury surged hotter than the memory. Not just at whoever had orchestrated it, but at himself—for losing control, for letting anyone see him stripped bare.

It wasn’t only him. Someone had planned this. And he intended to find out who.

The knock at his office door was soft, but deliberate. He didn’t need to look up. The perfume reached him before she did.

“Lucien,” Georgia purred, gliding inside without waiting for permission. She never waited.

He didn’t offer her a seat. His eyes remained fixed on the papers before him, though every sense marked her slow, prowling approach.

“You left the party early,” she said, her voice coated in silk, her gaze sweeping over him. “I couldn’t find you in your room.”

Lucien’s eyes flicked up then, sharp and cold as a blade. Georgia’s smile spread at his reaction, as though she’d been fishing for it.

“You know people talk,” she continued, leaning against the edge of his desk like she owned the right. “Especially when the master of the house disappears in the middle of his own celebration.”

His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking once. “Careful, Georgia. I don’t recall asking for your commentary.”

She tilted her head, feigning innocence, though her eyes glittered. “I’m only concerned. You looked… unwell last night. Almost as if someone had gotten to you.”

Her words dripped with honey, but Lucien heard the steel beneath. A test.

He set his pen down with precise calm and finally let his gaze cut into hers. “You’re treading dangerous ground.”

Georgia’s smile didn’t falter, but something sharp flickered in her eyes. She pushed off his desk slowly, her heels clicking as she turned. “Dangerous is such a relative term, darling.”

As she left, the faint trace of her perfume lingered like poison.

And for the first time, Lucien felt suspicion coil tighter. Georgia knew too much.

Downstairs, Maya scrubbed the marble steps until her hands ached. She welcomed the sting, forcing herself to focus on the rhythm of rag against stone instead of the storm inside her. But her thoughts betrayed her. Every time she blinked, fragments of last night returned—his weight, his breath, his voice low and commanding. The way she had melted, shameful and desperate, despite herself.

She hated how easily her body betrayed her now. Even the faint trace of his cologne lingering in the hallway made her chest tighten.

“Daydreaming won’t get you anywhere,” Mrs. Carbone’s sharp voice cut through, startling Maya so badly her rag slipped from her fingers.

Maya bent quickly to retrieve it, her cheeks burning. “No, ma’am,” she whispered.

The older woman’s eyes lingered, sharper than her tone. Maya lowered her head again, scrubbing harder, but the heat crawling up her neck refused to fade.

What if someone found out? What if Georgia already suspected?

Her stomach knotted at the thought. Georgia looked at her like prey even before last night. If she knew… Maya wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

Her rag stilled as footsteps approached, measured, steady, unmistakable. Her pulse spiked before she even looked up.

And then Lucien’s shadow fell across the staircase.

“Up,” his voice commanded, cool and sharp.

Maya froze, rag clenched tight in her hand. Slowly, she rose to her feet, keeping her eyes low, fixed on the gleaming marble between them. But she felt his gaze on her, piercing, unrelenting.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said flatly.

Her breath hitched. “No, sir. I’ve just… been busy.”

His silence stretched heavy. Then, “Mm.” The sound was almost thoughtful, though his eyes studied her face with surgical precision, noting the tremor in her voice, the pulse fluttering in her throat.

For a moment, something darker flickered in his expression. Not just desire. Suspicion.

“You were with me last night.”

The words landed like a blade. Maya’s breath caught, her fingers curling tighter around the rag until it tore. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t lie. Couldn’t confess.

Lucien stepped closer, close enough that the air between them charged with heat. His voice dropped, low enough for only her to hear.

“And I intend to know why.”