5

Isabella bit her lower lip, taken aback by his reaction. No sign of discomfort, no furtive glances, nothing that betrays any emotion. She approached him slowly, closing the space between them, until she felt his breath against her face.

“You’ve only been here a few days, Lucas,” she whispered, her eyes searching his, “but I have the feeling that you’re already… different from the rest. »

Lucas remained impassive, although she could see his eyes harden slightly, as if he was preparing for something.

“I do my best to serve with devotion, Madam,” he replied simply.

She smiled at this response, amused by his attempt to remain professional. Yet she could sense a barrier, a distance that he tried to maintain, like a shield against her advances. This simple fact reinforced her desire to test him further, to push his limits to see how far he would last.

Isabella moved closer, her fingers lightly brushing Lucas' sleeve, tracing imaginary circles on the fabric. She could feel the underlying tension in his body, even as he tried hard to hide it.

“You know, Lucas,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “people here quickly learn that it’s dangerous to resist me. »

Lucas looked at her, his eyes glued to hers, and for the first time, she detected something more than indifference. Was it determination, defiance? Impossible to say for sure, but it was enough to encourage him to go further.

“I would never seek to challenge you, Madam,” he finally replied, his voice as calm as ever, but slightly deeper.

Isabella pulled away slightly, surprised by the apparent sincerity of his words. This was not what she had expected. She had hoped for a sharper, more emotional reaction. Instead, he remained grounded in his role, refusing to get drawn into his game.

" Really ? she said, raising an eyebrow, her tone half provocative. “And yet you seem so… distant. As if nothing I did could reach you. »

Lucas held her gaze without flinching. “I am here to serve you, Madam, and not to be… harmed. »

There was a disarming honesty in his words, a form of respect that almost disarmed her. Isabella felt disconcerted, an emotion she didn't often experience. She hadn't anticipated that he would respond in this way, that he could, in a way, turn the game against her.

She looked at him for a long moment, weighing her options, looking for a chink, a chink in the armor he wore with such determination. But she found nothing. What destabilized her even more was the growing awareness that she was not controlling him, that he was slipping from her grasp in a subtle but undeniable way.

Finally, Isabella pulled back, her enigmatic smile returning to her face. “You may dispose, Lucas,” she said in a soft voice, but with a touch of coldness. “I think I don’t need you anymore for tonight. »

Lucas bowed his head slightly in respect, without a word, then left the room, closing the door behind him without a sound. When he left, Isabella stood in the middle of the room, her thoughts swirling around this confusing exchange.

She sat on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing the silk sheets. Lucas had surprised her, which was not an easy thing. Most men gave in to her, captivated by her power, by her charm, but Lucas seemed to have an inner strength that allowed him to stay away, not to succumb to her games. It annoyed him as much as it attracted him. She liked a challenge, but this one seemed different, more personal.

Isabella finally lay down, her thoughts still on Lucas. What could possibly have kept him, this man of quiet charisma, from getting caught in her net? Was it just aloofness, or was there something deeper, something she hadn't discovered yet?

Questions swirled through her mind, fueling a curiosity she knew was dangerous. Lucas was an enigma, and she hated not being able to solve riddles.

Evenings at Villa Davenport followed a ritual as precise as it was inexorable. At nightfall, when silence enveloped the sumptuous corridors of the residence, Isabella retired to her apartments, where everything was carefully orchestrated for her pleasure. Every detail was important: the soft light from the chandeliers, the soft music that floated in the air, the delicate scent of lavender that permeated the room. Nothing was left to chance.

Isabella loved this absolute control that she exercised over her environment, and even more so, over the men who served her. Damien, Nicolas, and Matthieu had all, at one time or another, been summoned to her room to satisfy her desires. Each of them, in their own way, had submitted to her will, accepting the role she imposed on them with a sort of resigned docility. They were there to serve her, to respond to her every whim, to offer her what she demanded of them, without asking questions, without ever questioning her domination.

Yet, despite this unconditional obedience, Isabella found a certain pleasure in testing their limits, in pushing them beyond what they thought they could handle. She loved seeing them writhe under her command, oscillating between desire and fear, between devotion and reluctance. It was a game she excelled at, a game where she always held the trump cards.

Every evening, she repeated this ritual, savoring the power she had over these men, but also, without fully admitting it to herself, looking for something more, a spark that would break the monotony of this absolute power. She thought she had found this spark in Lucas.

Lucas Moreau, the last to arrive, was different. Since his arrival, he had been impeccably polite, carrying out his tasks with silent efficiency, but he had never shown the slightest emotion, the slightest reaction to her attempts to provoke him. Isabella had tried to lure him into her game, to make him succumb like the others, but Lucas remained strangely insensitive, as if he carried within him a secret that nothing could shake.

This indifference disturbed her as much as it irritated her. She was not used to being resisted, and even less used to being ignored. Lucas wasn't playing by her rules, and it was making her question her own beliefs. Why wasn't he reacting? What was holding him back? Was it simple restraint, a form of rigid discipline, or was there something else, something she hadn't yet discovered?

The more the nights passed, the more space this question took up in his mind. The other butlers continued to comply with his demands, subject to his will, but their docility no longer amused him as much. She continued to call them into her room, exploring their limits, testing their submission, but her mind kept returning to Lucas, to his inscrutable gaze, to this distance he maintained, unwavering.