Chapter 2

The shove was harder than I'd expected.

I stumbled half a step, barely managing to catch myself against the edge of the marble console table.

Lewis Delgado didn't even look back.

He walked straight toward Clarissa Simmons, took the limited-edition Birkin from her hand, and placed it carefully on the cabinet beside the entrance.

Then he turned to face me.

"Who the hell said you could leave?"

His voice was cold.

I straightened my blouse and looked at him without speaking.

A mocking smile curled across his lips.

"Did you forget what you signed three years ago, Abigail?"

He slipped one hand into his pocket.

"Supplemental Clause Ten. It was written clearly enough that even you should remember it."

I frowned slightly.

Lewis continued, deliberately emphasizing each word.

"Until Party A formally authorizes termination, Party B shall remain obligated to provide services for an additional three-month transition period, with renewal occurring automatically upon request."

He paused, watching my reaction.

"You signed that contract willingly."

Of course I remembered.

Three years ago, when the Fox family's fifty-million-dollar debt had been hanging over my head, I'd signed whatever paperwork Lewis's lawyers put in front of me.

Back then, the Delgado family controlled half the underground casinos and private gambling clubs in New York.

Refusing the heir to that empire hadn't exactly been an option.

Lewis tilted his chin toward Clarissa.

"Clarissa just returned from Italy. She's been through a lot, and she doesn't handle stress well."

Clarissa lowered her eyes, looking appropriately delicate.

"Her health hasn't been great lately," Lewis added. "I don't want her dealing with unnecessary trouble."

He looked back at me.

"And I'm not going to find someone I trust to look after her overnight."

His tone turned commanding.

"Until I hire a suitable caretaker, you're staying here."

I stared at him.

He continued as though the matter had already been settled.

"You'll prepare her meals, manage her schedule, and make sure she's comfortable. Whatever she needs, you'll take care of it."

For a moment, I genuinely wondered whether I'd misheard him.

Three years as his mistress.

Three years playing the perfect companion at Mafia gatherings, entertaining dangerous men, and pretending not to notice whenever he whispered Clarissa's name in his sleep.

And now that his precious first love had returned, he wanted me to become her personal servant.

I blinked.

"Mr. Delgado."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't you just tell me you couldn't stand having another woman in this house?"

His expression darkened.

I tilted my head.

"Wouldn't my presence make Miss Simmons uncomfortable?"

Lewis didn't answer.

He simply stared at me with those cold, dark eyes that had frightened grown men into silence during family negotiations.

I knew that look.

It meant he expected obedience.

Unfortunately for him, I'd spent three years learning exactly how much his expectations were worth.

I took a slow breath.

Then I reached into my handbag and pulled out my calculator.

The screen flickered to life.

"Very well."

Lewis narrowed his eyes.

I pressed a few buttons.

"But that'll cost extra."

His jaw tightened.

"Abigail."

"Personal care services weren't included in my original contract," I explained pleasantly. "And providing specialized assistance to the daughter of an allied Mafia family carries additional liability."

I glanced toward Clarissa.

"Especially someone as delicate as Miss Simmons."

Her smile stiffened.

I looked back at Lewis.

"I'll prepare a revised fee schedule. Naturally, the three-month extension will be billed separately."

Lewis stared at me for several seconds.

Then he gave a humorless laugh.

"You're unbelievable."

I smiled.

"Thank you, Mr. Delgado."

He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but Clarissa gently caught his sleeve.

"Lewis, please. Don't argue because of me."

His expression softened immediately.

I lowered my eyes to the calculator.

Apparently, the arrangement was settled.

If Lewis wanted to keep me in the Delgado penthouse for another three months, I would stay.

But every additional service would have a price.

And this time, I intended to charge him for every single inconvenience.

The following morning, I woke at exactly six.

The penthouse was still quiet.

Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan lay beneath a pale winter sky. The streets below were nearly empty, and the private security guards stationed outside the building were just beginning their morning shift.

I changed into a simple blouse and trousers, tied my hair back, and headed downstairs.

The kitchen was spotless.

Everything was exactly where I'd left it.

After three years in the Delgado household, I knew the place better than most of the staff.

I also knew Lewis's habits down to the smallest detail.

He had a chronic stomach condition, made worse by years of drinking expensive whiskey during late-night meetings with Mafia associates.

His doctors had warned him repeatedly to stop skipping meals.

Naturally, he ignored them.

So I'd developed a morning routine to keep his stomach from acting up.

Freshly prepared black soybean milk, served warm.

A toasted sandwich with eggs and a light filling.

Nothing too greasy.

Nothing too cold.

Everything had to be ready before his first meeting of the day.

Clarissa had her own requirements.

According to the medical information Lewis had given me, she suffered from low blood sugar.

No matter how late she slept, she was supposed to have something nourishing prepared for her when she woke.

Lewis had specifically requested bird's nest soup, a delicacy Clarissa had apparently grown fond of during her travels.

So I prepared that as well.

By seven, the kitchen counters were lined with neatly arranged dishes.

The soybean milk was warm.

The sandwiches were fresh.

Clarissa's soup sat in a covered porcelain bowl, ready to be served.

I checked the time.

Everything was running according to schedule.

It was almost amusing.

I'd graduated with a finance degree and spent years negotiating acquisitions for one of New York's most powerful crime families.

I'd handled transactions worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

Yet here I was, preparing breakfast for a Mafia heir and the woman he'd spent three years pining over.

Still, work was work.

And now that I'd decided to treat every minute as billable, I found the arrangement considerably easier to tolerate.

At seven thirty sharp, footsteps sounded on the staircase.

Lewis appeared.

He wore a custom-tailored charcoal suit, the kind his family's personal tailor delivered directly to the penthouse.

His dark hair was still slightly damp from the shower.

A silk tie hung loosely around his neck, completely unknotted.

He walked into the dining room without greeting me.

I continued slicing fruit behind the kitchen island.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him stop.

For three years, our mornings had followed the same routine.

Lewis would come downstairs with his tie hanging loose.

I'd put down whatever I was doing, walk over, and straighten his collar.

Then I'd rise onto my toes and knot his tie for him.

Sometimes he'd rest a hand on my waist.

Sometimes he'd complain that I was taking too long.

And sometimes, if he'd slept badly, he'd simply stand there in silence while I fixed everything.

I'd called it my Warm Morning Service.

Two thousand dollars per occurrence.

At the time, Lewis had never known I was keeping track.

Today, however, I had no intention of providing complimentary labor.

I kept my head down and continued slicing strawberries.

Lewis pulled out a dining chair and sat.

A moment passed.

Then another.

He glanced at the empty place setting in front of him.

Then at me.

"Tie."

One word.

No greeting.

No request.

Just an order.

I placed the knife on the cutting board.

Then I washed and dried my hands.

Lewis watched me approach, his expression relaxing slightly.

He probably assumed I'd finally remembered my place.

I stopped in front of him.

But instead of reaching for his tie, I took out my phone.

A few taps later, I opened a payment request and held the screen toward him.

"Tie-knotting service. Two thousand dollars per session."

I smiled politely.

"Mr. Delgado, payment first."

Lewis went completely still.

His eyes moved from my face to the payment screen.

Then back again.

For several seconds, he didn't speak.

I waited patiently.

Finally, his chest rose with a sharp breath.

"Abigail Fox."

He pronounced my full name slowly.

"Are you really that obsessed with money?"

I blinked.

"Not obsessed, Mr. Delgado."

I held the phone steady.

"Just maintaining professional standards."

His eyes narrowed.

I added, "No credit."

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

"You've tied my tie every morning for three years."

"Correct."

"And now you're charging me for it?"

"Also correct."

His expression grew colder.

I glanced at the silk tie hanging around his neck.

"Would you like to proceed with the service?"

Lewis stared at me as though he were deciding whether to throw my phone across the room.

Before he could answer, soft footsteps sounded from the staircase.

"Lewis?"

Clarissa's voice floated into the dining room.

We both turned.

She descended the stairs wearing a pale silk nightgown, her long hair falling loosely over her shoulders.

Her cheeks were slightly flushed from sleep.

Even without makeup, she looked carefully delicate, like a porcelain doll someone had placed inside the Delgado penthouse for safekeeping.

"Lewis, are you two arguing already?"

Her voice carried a note of innocent concern.

She walked toward him and glanced at the payment screen in my hand.

Then she smiled.

"Oh, Abigail."

Her tone was gentle, almost sympathetic.

"There's really no need to make such a fuss over a tie."

I lowered my phone.

Clarissa stepped closer to Lewis.

"Here, let me help."

She reached for the silk tie around his neck as naturally as though she'd been doing it for years.

Then she looked at me.

"Abigail used to be a society girl, didn't she?"

Her smile widened.

"She was raised around wealthy families. I'm sure she's not really suited to this sort of work."

I looked at her.

The words sounded considerate.

But the implication was obvious.

She was reminding me that I'd once belonged to New York's upper class, before the Fox family's financial troubles forced me into the Delgado household.

And now, in her eyes, I'd been reduced to serving the man who loved her.

I didn't bother correcting her.

Instead, I stepped aside.

"Of course, Miss Simmons."

Clarissa smiled sweetly.

She rose onto her toes and began working on Lewis's tie.

Her fingers moved awkwardly.

First, she crossed the narrow end over the wide one.

Then she pulled the wrong section through the loop.

The silk twisted.

She frowned and tried again.

Lewis stood perfectly still.

But I noticed something interesting.

His eyes weren't on Clarissa.

They were on me.

I pretended not to notice.

Clarissa made a second attempt.

The knot came out loose and crooked.

She tugged at it, accidentally pulling Lewis's collar out of place.

"Oh, no."

She laughed softly.

"That doesn't look right."

She started over.

The third attempt was even worse.

The tie hung lopsided against his shirt, with one end noticeably longer than the other.

Clarissa pouted.

"Ugh, why is this so difficult?"

She looked up at Lewis, sticking out her tongue playfully.

"Lewis, am I completely hopeless?"

I glanced at the crooked knot.

For someone who'd supposedly spent years attending formal events with the Italian Mafia's elite, she was remarkably unfamiliar with men's neckties.

But that wasn't my concern.

Lewis finally looked away from me.

His expression softened as he gazed down at her.

"It's fine."

He caught her hands gently.

"I'm not in a rush."

Then he moved behind her fingers, guiding them through the knot.

"Here. Bring this end across first."

Clarissa giggled.

"Like this?"

"That's right."

He adjusted her hands.

"Now pull it through."

They stood close together, their faces only inches apart.

Clarissa's perfume mingled with the familiar scent of Lewis's cologne.

Their voices dropped to intimate murmurs.

I stood beside the kitchen island and checked my watch.

Seven forty-five.

Fifteen minutes.

They'd spent fifteen minutes turning a simple necktie into a romantic performance.

I cleared my throat.

"Mr. Delgado. Miss Simmons."

Neither responded immediately.

I continued in a perfectly professional tone.

"According to the revised service arrangement, my scheduled duties begin once breakfast service commences."

Lewis slowly lifted his eyes.

I glanced at the tie.

"Since you're currently conducting a private tutorial, my assistance doesn't appear necessary."

I slipped my phone into my pocket.

"I'll return to my room until I'm needed."

Then I turned toward the hallway.

I'd barely taken two steps when Lewis spoke.

"Stop."

His voice cut through the dining room.

I stopped.

Slowly, I turned around.

"Yes, Mr. Delgado?"

He was still standing beside Clarissa.

The tie remained crooked around his neck.

His expression, however, had lost every trace of tenderness.

"Come here."

I walked back toward the dining table.

Lewis pointed toward the covered porcelain bowl.

"Clarissa's breakfast."

I glanced at the bird's nest soup.

"It's ready."

"I can see that."

His eyes hardened.

"Feed her."

For a moment, I thought I'd misunderstood.

I looked from the bowl to Clarissa.

Then back to Lewis.

"Feed her?"

"Did I stutter?"

His voice was quiet, but the threat beneath it was unmistakable.

"Clarissa's hands are delicate. I don't want her handling hot dishes."

I glanced at her perfectly manicured fingers.

They looked entirely capable of holding a spoon.

Clarissa immediately lowered her eyes.

A faint blush crept across her cheeks.

"Lewis, that's really not necessary."

She touched his arm.

"I can eat by myself. You don't have to trouble Abigail."

Lewis didn't even look at her.

His gaze remained fixed on me.

"Let her do it."

Clarissa hesitated.

"But..."

"She's being paid to work."

He spoke each word slowly.

"Then she can do the damn job."

I looked at him.

For three years, I'd endured his coldness, his temper, and his constant reminders that I was nothing more than a substitute for the woman he truly wanted.

Now Clarissa was finally here.

And apparently, Lewis still wasn't satisfied.

He wanted me standing beside them, watching him pamper her while I performed the duties of a servant.

He wanted to remind me exactly where I stood in the Delgado household.

I lowered my eyes to the untouched bowl of soup.

Then I looked back at him.

My expression remained perfectly calm.

After all, Lewis Delgado had made one thing very clear.

He was paying for my services.

And I had no intention of giving him anything for free.