2

She walked towards her dressing room and opened a hidden door that led to her secret bedroom. There, in the darkness, she felt the weight of her own secret, of her own unconfessed desires. The red silk walls seemed almost alive, pulsing with the intensity of what they had witnessed over the years.

She sat down in the large dark wooden chair, closing her eyes to concentrate. Tonight, she had decided to do nothing, to simply stay there, in silence, confronted with herself. The instruments of discipline remained intact on the shelves, and the room seemed to wait, as if frozen in time.

The butlers at Villa Davenport were more than just servants. Each of them, with their attractive appearance and presence, seemed straight out of a dream. Damien, the oldest, had this mature and reassuring charm. His salt and pepper hair, his square jaw, and his deep gaze gave him the air of a man who had seen and experienced everything. He was the pillar Isabella had leaned on for years, a silent confidant who knew her every whim. But despite his loyalty, she knew that he kept an element of mystery, a shadow in his past that he never revealed.

Nicolas, for his part, was the epitome of elegance. His measured gestures, soft voice and refined manners made him a favorite among the villa's guests. He had this enigmatic smile, this look that seemed to pierce souls, and a natural charm that left no one indifferent. Isabella appreciated his sense of aesthetics, his ability to anticipate her desires, and the way he knew how to make every moment special. But beneath this perfect facade, she perceived a certain distance, a coldness that he never showed openly but which gave a glimpse of a fragility that he tried to hide.

Matthieu was the youngest of the three, with boundless energy and a contagious smile. It brought a touch of lightness to the sometimes heavy atmosphere of the villa. Always quick to joke, to lighten the atmosphere, he was appreciated for his ability to make days more pleasant. But Isabella also knew that he was impulsive, sometimes reckless, and she often had to remind him of the limits not to cross. Yet despite his apparent carelessness, he showed unwavering devotion to his work and unwavering loyalty to her.

But among all, it was Lucas Moreau, the newcomer, who intrigued Isabella the most. From the moment he arrived, he stood out for his reserved, almost distant attitude. He did not have this flamboyance that characterized the others, nor this apparent desire to please at all costs. Lucas was different. He was tall, with an athletic build that could be seen under his impeccably tailored clothes. Her brown hair was always neatly styled, but it was her deep green eyes that caught the eye. He had this way of looking at things, at people, as if he saw beyond appearances, as if he was trying to understand what was hidden behind the masks.

Isabella often observed him from afar, fascinated by this reserve which distinguished him from the others. He carried out his tasks with almost military precision, never losing his calm. But he never sought attention, never put himself forward. It was as if he wanted to remain invisible, to go unnoticed, and that was precisely what made his presence so enigmatic. She found herself following him with her gaze, watching for his reactions, trying to unravel this mystery that surrounded him.

One day, while serving lunch on the sunny terrace, Isabella decided to break the ice. She observed him preparing the table, his measured gestures, his straight posture. When he approached to ask her if she wanted anything else, she stared straight into his eyes, trying to read something in him.

“Lucas, where are you from? » she asked, in a soft voice, but with this underlying authority that left no room for evasion.

He looked up at her, surprised by this unexpected question. His green eyes met hers, and for a brief moment, he seemed to hesitate, as if he were weighing each word he was going to say.

“I come from a small town in Brittany, Madam,” he finally replied, his accent barely betraying his origins. “But I worked in a few places before coming here. »

“And what brought you to Davenport Villa? » she continued, trying to pierce the armor he wore so carefully.

Lucas was silent for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “I needed a change,” he finally said. “And the opportunity presented itself. I thought this place would suit me. »

Isabella smiled, amused by his evasive response. It was clear that he didn't want to say too much, that he was deliberately keeping a distance. But far from discouraging her, it only piqued her curiosity further.

“I see,” she replied simply, before looking away to the ocean, ending the exchange. But in her mind, she continued to think, to wonder who Lucas Moreau really was and why he was so keen to keep his secrets.

The days passed, and Isabella continued to observe him discreetly, noting every detail, every little peculiarity. Lucas worked in silence, never trying to connect with others. He seemed comfortable in his solitude, but he never showed the slightest trace of bitterness or sadness. He was there, physically present, but his mind seemed elsewhere, as if he always kept a certain distance from the world around him.

One evening, while the villa was preparing for an important reception, Isabella overheard a conversation between Lucas and Nicolas in the entrance hall. She stood upstairs, out of sight, and listened to them discreetly. Nicolas, with his usual smile, tried to strike up a conversation with Lucas, asking him questions about his previous jobs, his tastes, his passions. But each time, Lucas responded evasively, cutting short any attempt at rapprochement.

“You’re a mystery, Lucas,” Nicolas finally said with a hint of frustration in his voice. “You don’t let anything show. It looks like you wear a mask all the time. »

“And you, Nicolas, wear your smile like armor,” Lucas replied in a calm tone, but with a touch of defiance. “Everyone has their own way of protecting themselves. »

Nicolas looked at him, surprised by this answer. A silence settled between them, heavy with innuendo, before Nicolas shook his head and smiled, as if to end the discussion.

Isabella, for her part, was fascinated by this exchange. She finally understood a little better what troubled her so much about Lucas. He was not only reserved, he was also aware of his own weaknesses and chose to hide them, just like she did. There was a depth to him that she had never seen in others, a complexity that made him all the more intriguing.

That evening, after the reception, Isabella retreated to her secret room, Lucas' face haunting her thoughts. She often sat in this room, alone, after social events, to recharge her batteries and regain her calm. But this time his thoughts were elsewhere. She thought about their brief exchange, the way he had answered her questions, the aura of mystery he maintained so carefully.

She wondered if Lucas would ever be able to let his guard down, to show her who he really was. But to do that, she knew she had to first gain his trust, find a way to approach him without him feeling threatened. She wasn't sure she could do it, but the idea of taking on the challenge excited her more than she wanted to admit.

In the following days, Isabella multiplied the opportunities to meet Lucas, to observe him, to look for clues about what he was really hiding. She felt that he was also watching her, that he was not fooled by her interest in him. But he remained impassive, professional, letting nothing show what he was thinking or feeling.