"Are you sure about this, madam?" Darrell asked, his face bearing a look of concern and worry that shadowed his usually cheerful expression. He kept pace beside Serena as they headed downstairs, his mind trying to determine if she was indeed telling the truth or just joking around with him.
It was already night and she had sent for him earlier, her voice calm but insistent, to ask if there was any vehicle in the house that needed repair or servicing.
When he ntioned there were a few, she followed up with another question—whether work tools were available in the house. His affirmative answer only deepened his confusion, his mind racing with possibilities until she finally explained that she wanted to work on the vehicles to keep her mind busy and clear from evil thoughts.
The shock that flashed across his face was so genuine it pulled a laugh from her, light and unguarded, before she revealed the truth: she had been a chanical engineer before being brought to Lucian’s house, and even owned a booming garage where the towns people brought their vehicles to her for repairs or servicing.
"Yes, I’m very sure, and you should stop looking at as if I have suddenly grown a horn. Haven’t you seen female chanics before?" Serena asked, her tone teasing but edged with sothing sharper, a challenge glinting in her eyes.
"It’s not like I haven’t. It’s just that you don’t look like one," Darrell admitted, the words tumbling out before he could reconsider. Only after the words tumbled out did he realize that he wouldn’t even recognize a chanic if he saw one outside the workshop.
Serena shot him a look, one eyebrow arching in silent judgnt.
"Do they write it on their foreheads?" She asked as if she had heard his internal thoughts.
Darrell laughed out loud, the sound booming through the quiet hallway. "I don’t an it like that, madam. It’s just that it’s really hard to believe you were so amazing before you ca here. I admire won like that a lot," he confessed, flashing her a smile that softened his features. Then, as if rembering the late hour, he added, "And again, it’s night already. Why won’t you leave it until morning? What if you sleep off under the car?"
Serena let out a cheerful laugh, the sound bright and unburdened. He was the very first person that had raised such a concern to her hearing. She couldn’t even believe it. How would she sleep off while working under a car?
"I won’t sleep off, don’t worry. And even if I do, you’ll wake up, I’m sure," she answered, her voice lighthearted but firm. She was enjoying his reactions, the way his expressions shifted so openly in response to her words.
She wouldn’t have even thought about working on any car that night if Marlowe had allowed her to continue working in the lab. But the woman had been adamant, insisting Serena needed rest and forbidding her from returning to the lab until the next day.
And Serena knew—if she didn’t keep her mind busy, she would drown in the thoughts she was trying so hard to escape. The weight of how her life had turned into a ss would press down on her until she could do nothing but wallow in the suffocating grip of depression.
"All right, madam, but we are missing one thing—a jack—and I can get one in, say, 30 minutes’ ti from a nearby store. Think you can wait for that long?" he asked just as they arrived at the foot of the stairs, his gaze flicking toward the front door as if already calculating the fastest route.
"Of course, but if you can make it in a shorter ti, I’ll appreciate it," Serena replied, her fingers drumming absently against the sturdy railings of the stairs.
Just then, the sharp clack of heels against the marble floor cut through the quiet, announcing a visitor before they appeared. Mitchell soon stepped into view, dressed as skimpily as always, her confidence radiating in every sway of her hips.
Serena felt anger claw its way up her chest, hot and sudden. She wasn’t even sure who the fury was directed at—the woman smirking in front of her or the man who had apparently invited her here. The thought that Lucian had been on the verge of death just this morning, only to summon Mitchell hours later, made her stomach twist.
And then the mories rushed back—Mitchell’s mocking words at the clothing store, the way she had looked at Serena like she was nothing.
The urge to lunge at her, to wipe that smug expression off her face, was nearly overwhelming. But Serena forced herself to take a deep breath, her nails digging into her palms. She wouldn’t give the girl the satisfaction.
Mitchell barely spared Serena a glance before fixing her gaze on Darrell.
"Darrell, I’m expecting a package, and I asked for it to be delivered here since I’ll be here for so ti. Can you see to it that it’s received safely? It’s a very fragile item, and I wouldn’t want it to break." She dropped the request in a tone that suggested she wasn’t ready to take no for an answer.
Darrell hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. "Uhh... Sorry, Mitchell. You have to find soone else for that job right now. I am running an errand for my boss’s wife, and I can’t be at two places at the sa ti."
"Your boss’s wife?" Mitchell echoed, her voice dripping with false curiosity. Then, as if just noticing Serena standing there, her eyes widened in exaggerated realization. "Oh, the paper wife," she said, letting out a low, mocking chuckle.
She didn’t know why, but sothing about Serena just made her feel she could bully the girl, believing that her confidence would be near zero. Considering her reputation and the rumors going around, Mitchell just knew the girl was easy target. She wouldn’t want to waste an opportunity like that, especially when it had to do with her source of inco.
Serena’s entire body went still. "What did you just call ?" she asked, her voice dangerously soft.
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