Chapter 5

POPPY'S POV

I couldn’t sleep.

Not because the sheets were too stiff or the room was too cold. This bed, this room, this mansion it was all too luxurious for that.

No.

I couldn’t sleep because he was still in my head. Lucien.

The master of the house. The man whose voice could shatter glass without ever rising above a whisper. The man who looked at me like he had already peeled every layer of me off with his eyes.

He didn’t even touch me. And yet I could still feel him.

His stare. His voice.

The scent of him rich and dark, like danger wrapped in velvet.

God.

I rolled onto my side, pressing my legs together beneath the sheets, my body burning in places I didn’t have names for. My mind ran in circles.

“You always wander into men’s bedrooms while you clean?”

His words kept replaying in my head, over and over, like a song stuck on repeat.

That smirk.

That voice.

Those eyes.

And that body. Good God. That body. Everything about him was sharp. Broad. Made to dominate. I’d never felt so small, so seen, so… exposed in my life.

He didn’t even touch me.

And somehow, it still felt like he had.

Why did it feel like something changed in me just from being in the same room with him?

Worse… why did I like it?

I woke up late the next morning, sweaty and disoriented, cheeks still pink from the dreams I refused to admit I had.

There was a note on my nightstand. Not the usual typed paper.

This one… was handwritten. Bold black ink. Slanted script. A strong, unforgiving hand.

You left the door open behind you. That’s sloppy, little maid. Don’t make me correct you.

L

My hands shook holding it. I swallowed, reading it again.

Not Lucien. Not Mr. Moretti. Just L.

The kind of signature a man leaves when he doesn’t need you to question who he is.

My body reacted before my brain could catch up. A flush warmed my chest. My thighs pressed together. I was… ashamed of the way my heart fluttered.

Ashamed… and hooked.

I folded the note quickly and stuffed it under my pillow.

The rest of the day passed in a blur.

I cleaned. Mopped. Polished.

But everything felt off. The walls watched me. The mirrors reflected too much. My own shadow felt heavier somehow. Like someone had touched me without touching me and the echo of it was still there, under my skin.

And the worst part? It wasn’t just him anymore. It was all of them.

The mansion was full of men like that. Sharp and dangerous and beautiful in ways that should’ve been illegal.

Nico’s smirk still danced through my memory. That low, teasing voice.

“You’re braver than you look.”

He hadn’t even laid a finger on me, but it was clear he wanted to test me. Maybe for fun. Maybe to piss someone off.

And the way the guards looked at me now?

Different.

Like they knew something I didn’t.

Like the word had spread.

The new girl. The one who walked into his room and walked out still breathing.

By evening, I couldn’t take it anymore. I hid in the laundry room just to breathe. Just to sit for a second with the buzz in my chest and the mess in my head.

I closed my eyes, leaning back against the wall, and whispered to myself:

“I need to stop. I need to stop thinking about him.”

But the second I said it, a flash of memory hit me:

Lucien standing in the dark. His sleeves rolled. His jaw tight.

“Next time you walk into a wolf’s den, little girl… make sure the wolf isn’t home.”

And suddenly I wasn’t thinking about stopping. I was wondering what would’ve happened if he hadn’t let me go.

What would he have done? Would he have pushed me against the wall? Grabbed my chin? Told me not to run?

Would I have let him?

God.

I covered my face with both hands, breathing hard. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t like this. I didn’t want this. I didn’t even know him.

And yet somehow… I couldn’t stop wanting him.

Later that day.

The bottle of scotch trembled in my hand as I stood outside the heavy double doors. My fingers gripped the neck of it tighter, praying they wouldn't notice the shake.

"Just deliver it. In, out. Don’t look at anyone the wrong way," the housekeeper had whispered before pushing the bottle into my arms. "Straight to the lounge. Alone. He asked for you."

He. Lucien.

My throat was dry. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else.

I didn’t know why he wanted me to deliver something so small. There were a hundred staff in this mansion. Why me?

The doors creaked open before I could knock.

And I stepped into a room that was thick with smoke, laughter, and something darker. Something heavy.

It was a lounge, but not the kind where people relaxed. This was where men made decisions. Where empires were cut open and sewn back together.

The first thing I saw was Nico.

Lounging in a leather armchair like he owned the place, one leg draped over the other, a gold ring glinting on his finger as he held a tumbler of dark liquor. When his eyes landed on me, they lit up.

"Well, well. If it isn’t the little maid who wanders into wolf dens," he purred.

I swallowed hard.

"You came," another voice said. Colder. Deeper.

I turned and saw a man I hadn’t met before.

He was sitting at the far end of the room, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, sleeves rolled up, shirt fitted to perfection. Dark hair slicked back. Eyes like polished steel. No smile. No emotion.

He looked at me like I was a mistake. Or worse an inconvenience.

"She’s got guts," Nico added lazily. "Or she’s too stupid to be afraid."

"Maybe both," the cold-eyed man muttered.

And then the last man.

He stood in the corner, half-shadowed, arms crossed over his chest, black tattoo ink crawling up one forearm. He was watching me. Not blinking. Not smiling. His silence was more dangerous than words.

I stepped forward on shaky legs, praying they didn’t buckle beneath me. The bottle of scotch felt like it weighed twenty pounds.

"For… Mr. Moretti," I whispered, setting the bottle on the glass table.

Silence.

I felt them looking at me. Measuring me.

"What do you think, Aleksei?" Nico said with a smirk. "Our little housemaid look like a spy to you?"

So that was the quiet one’s name. Aleksei. The tattooed man tilted his head. Said nothing. The man with steel eyes stood.

The temperature in the room dropped.

He walked slowly toward me, each step precise. I stiffened, heart pounding, breath trapped in my chest. He stopped a foot away. Close enough to make my skin prickle.

"You walked into Lucien's room yesterday," he said. It wasn’t a question.

I nodded, too afraid to lie.

"And he let you leave." Again, I nodded and His eyes narrowed.

"Interesting."

He walked in a slow circle around me, like he was inspecting a weapon he didn’t quite trust.

"You don’t belong here," he said.

"I know," I whispered.

He stopped behind me. Leaned down slightly. His voice at my ear.

"Then be careful where you walk."

The warning curled around my spine like ice.

I turned, desperate to escape his gaze only to meet Aleksei’s eyes again.

Still watching.

Still silent.

And then, finally, the voice that owned the room.

"That’s enough."

Lucien.

He stepped in from a side door, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened, the top of his shirt unbuttoned. His eyes flicked over the room, then landed on me.

His jaw clenched.

"Leave us."

The words weren’t directed at me. They were for the men.

The cold-eyed one gave me one last look. Sharp. Calculating. Then left without a word.

Nico winked, of course, and blew me a kiss before following.

Aleksei was the last to move. But before he did, he said something low in Russian.

Lucien replied without looking at him And then we were alone.

Me. And the master of the house His eyes lingered on me, unreadable.

"You look scared," he said.

"I. . .I just. . .They were. . ."

"They won’t touch you. Not unless I say so."

He poured a glass of scotch. Took a slow sip. Watched me the entire time.

"I told you to be careful," he said softly.

My heart thundered and He stepped closer.

"You’re making this harder than it needs to be, little maid"

My breath hitched. "What do you mean?"

His hand lifted. Just barely. Like he might touch my face.

But he didn’t.

He just looked at me.

"You should go," he said quietly.

I didn’t move.

Neither did he.

But something between us twisted.