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One evening, while wandering in the gardens of the villa, Isabella saw Lucas alone, near the fountain. He seemed lost in thought, watching the water flow with an almost melancholy expression. She hesitated for a moment before approaching, ultimately deciding that this was the perfect opportunity to strike up a more intimate conversation.

“Lucas,” she called softly, approaching him.

He turned around, surprised to see her, but he quickly pulled himself together, giving her a slight nod. “Madam,” he replied simply.

“You like this place? » asked Isabella, pointing to the fountain and the gardens around them.

"He's... calming," Lucas admitted after a moment's thought. “You almost forget the outside world here. »

Isabella smiled. “That’s what I’ve always loved about this villa. It has the power to isolate us, to protect us from the rest of the world. But sometimes this isolation can also become a prison. »

Lucas looked at her,

Intrigued by his words. “Do you feel like a prisoner here, Madam? »

Isabella sighed, turning towards the fountain. " Sometimes. But it's a choice I made. Just like you chose to come here, to isolate yourself. »

Lucas remained silent, his eyes fixed on the water. He seemed to be thinking about what she had just said, weighing each word.

“Sometimes we make choices we don’t understand right away,” he finally whispered, almost to himself. “But we have to live with the consequences. »

Isabella looked at him, feeling for the first time an opening, a small fragment of truth in his words. “And what are the consequences of your choice, Lucas? »

He turned his head towards her, his green gaze boring into hers. “That remains to be seen,” he said simply, before turning away, ending the conversation.

Isabella watched him walk away, feeling a hint of frustration, but also excitement. Lucas Moreau was much more than just a butler. He was a man with a past, secrets, and a depth that made him fascinating. She knew she had only scratched the surface, but she was determined to find out more. No matter how long it took, she would find out what he was hiding, who he really was.

Isabella lost herself in thought, wondering how far this game would take them, and what price they would have to pay to discover the truth. But deep down, she already knew that she was ready to do anything to unravel the mystery of Lucas Moreau.

Night had fallen on Davenport Villa, shrouding the house in silent darkness, broken only by the murmur of waves and the rustling of leaves in the wind. The moon, high in the sky, cast a silvery glow on the walls of the villa, accentuating the shadows and sharp angles of the modern architecture. Isabella stood in front of the large bay window of her room, looking out at the sea which stretched as far as the eye could see. She loved this moment of calm, this moment when the villa finally seemed to calm down, to withdraw into itself, far from the gaze of others.

She raised her glass of wine to her lips, savoring the full-bodied taste of Merlot, as her thoughts drifted to Damien. The oldest of his butlers, with his graying hair and quiet confidence, offered him companionship that, although silent, was reassuring. She knew that she could count on him, that he was at her disposal, ready to respond to her slightest desires. But tonight wasn't the conversation or company she was looking for. It was something else. Something more intimate, more carnal.

Isabella put down her glass and walked over to the dark wooden table, where a vintage telephone sat. She touched the dial with her fingertips, hesitating for a moment. Then, with a quick decision, she picked up the receiver and dialed Damien's number. The phone only rang once before Damien's deep voice answered, tinged with respect and professionalism.

“Yes, ma’am? » he said, as if he was already expecting this call.

“Come join me in my room,” she ordered, her voice firm, but slightly softened with anticipation. She didn't wait for his response and hung up immediately, leaving a heavy silence in the room.

Isabella looked at herself in the mirror, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She knew what she wanted, and she knew Damien wouldn't disappoint her. A few minutes later, a light knock was heard on the door. Without turning around, she responded in a soft but confident voice.

“Come in. »

The door opened silently, and Damien entered the room, closing the door gently behind him. He stepped forward, his movements measured, his face impassive, but his eyes betrayed a certain intensity. He stopped a few steps from her, awaiting her orders, ready to respond to her slightest desires.

“Come closer,” she whispered, turning to look at him.

Damien stepped forward again, his gaze catching hers. He knew what was expected of him, he had done it many times before, and he knew it wasn't just a job, it was a question of trust, of loyalty. Isabella, without a word, slipped the fine silk dress she was wearing, letting it fall to the floor with a slight rustle. Damien didn't move, didn't react, but his gaze traveled over her body, capturing every curve, every detail.

She approached him, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the shirt. “I want you to stay with me tonight,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. His voice was soft, but commanding, a request that left no room for hesitation.

“As you wish, Madam,” he replied calmly, his tone even, although his breathing seemed slightly faster.

She took a step back, silently inviting him to follow her to the bed. Damien slowly took off his jacket, carefully placing each item of clothing on a chair, before joining her on the bed. Isabella sank back onto the pillows, watching Damien's every move with palpable anticipation. When he was finally near her, she pulled him closer, her hands sliding over his skin, tracing invisible lines, as if she were taking ownership of every part of his body.

Their union was marked by a silent passion, a sensual dance where each knew their role perfectly. Damien, despite his stoic appearance, revealed a controlled ardor, a response to each movement of Isabella, to each sigh she let escape. His hands explored her skin with an unexpected tenderness, contrasting with the firmness of his gestures. It was a delicate balance between dominance and abandonment, a power play they had learned to master over time.

The hours passed slowly, each moment stretched by the intensity of their exchanges. Isabella, in this intimacy, found a form of comfort, a deep satisfaction that went beyond simple physical pleasure. With Damien, she could drop the masks, allow herself a vulnerability that she never showed outside these walls. She knew he wouldn't judge her, that he would understand her in a way few people could. But despite this connection, there still remained a distance, an invisible barrier that separated them, even in the most intimate moments.

When dawn began to break, letting the first light of day enter through the curtains, Damien slowly stood up. He placed one last kiss on Isabella's shoulder, then got up to get dressed. She observed him in silence, already feeling the return of the loneliness that would invade her once he was gone. But she said nothing, knowing that this was how things should be.

“Thank you, Damien,” she finally whispered, her voice barely audible.

He turned towards her, his gaze softened by discreet affection. “It is I who thank you, Madam,” he replied before leaving the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Silence fell on the room, and Isabella leaned back against the pillows, eyes closed, remembering the sensations of the last night. She knew that this relationship with Damien was complex, woven with mutual respect, desire, but also a certain sadness. They were close, but at the same time, they remained distant, each in their own world, with their own secrets.

In the morning, when she came down for breakfast, the other butlers were already at their posts, going about their daily tasks. Nicolas, always impeccable, looked after the table with his usual grace. Matthieu, smiling as always, exchanged a few jokes with the kitchen staff. But despite the light atmosphere, Isabella could sense an underlying tension. They knew. They had always known. The walls of the villa had ears, and nothing remained secret for long.

Damien, true to himself, was impassive, as if last night had never happened. He carried out his tasks with the same efficiency and discretion. But Isabella could read in his gestures a subtle difference, an awareness of their bond, even if he didn't show it openly. He avoided meeting her gaze, but she knew he was perfectly aware of her presence.

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