Chapter 9: Beatrice's Arrival

Words : 1678 Updated : Sep 18th, 2025

I had to admit, Beatrice spoke with real authority. She had that barked-orders tone, like someone who's used to being in charge. It didn't sound arrogant-just the professional reflex of someone trained by years on the job. "I was just about to shower," Leslie whispered. "I had my clothes halfway off… that's why I took so long." "You could at least answer me," Beatrice said. "I was scrambling for a towel, then running to open the door," Leslie replied. I hid inside the closet and wondered what kind of family Leslie came from. Judging by her mother's presence alone, they had to be either rich or very well connected. So why did she cling so hard to Sergio Willis's money? "Perfect. I worked up a sweat on the way," Beatrice said. "Let's shower together. Grab me a towel from the closet." "Huh?" Leslie froze. "What's wrong, you don't want to?" Beatrice asked. "No…" Leslie blurted. "You change first. I'll get it for you." "Mm," Beatrice said. I heard Leslie shuffle toward me in tiny, deliberate steps-painfully slow. She even scuffed her slippers so they slapped the floor loudly-slap, slap, slap-like she was warning me to hide better. But there was hardly any space in the closet. Where was I supposed to go? Screw it-I'll take my chances and hope I get lucky. I just hoped Beatrice's back would be turned. With that thought, I grabbed a dress and held it in front of me like a shield. The closet was crammed with Leslie's clothes, everything smelling faintly of her perfume. She's about five‑five; even her biggest dress couldn't cover my six‑foot frame, no matter how much I hunched. While I worried, the doors swung open. Leslie's face looked even worse than crying. I flinched on reflex, then flicked my eyes outward, silently begging Beatrice not to look my way. I looked out, and froze. A stunning woman had already stripped down. She had to be in her forties, yet her skin was exquisitely maintained-porcelain pale, not an ounce to spare. Time had softened certain curves so they weren't as taut as Leslie's, but they were fuller, and by far. A beauty with a tiny waist and curvy hips, yet carrying herself with aristocratic poise-a rare combination. A wicked thought flashed through my mind. What if I could have both Leslie and her mother? How wild would that be? The moment the thought took root, Leslie's glare cut like a knife. "Look at my mother again and I'll gouge your eyes out," she hissed. She said it under her breath, snatched a towel and flung it outward, then slammed the closet door shut. "Come on, Mom. Let's shower," Leslie said. "Isn't Sergio here?" Beatrice asked suddenly. "He's not. His father's health has been shaky lately, so the three brothers are all running around at the company," Leslie replied. "Ah, Sergio…" Beatrice sighed. "You can't count on him. Right now he's only showing off because of the inheritance. Daughter, marrying into a wealthy family isn't easy." From her tone alone, she clearly didn't think much of Sergio. "We're genuinely in love, Mom," Leslie said. "It's not about the money." "Enough, drop it…" Crouched in the closet, I waited until I could no longer hear them. Only then did I relax. I had no idea whether the closet muffled sound, so I'd barely dared to breathe. After a while, the shower hissed to life in the bathroom. I eased the door open and, through the frosted glass, saw two graceful silhouettes. One willowy and enticing, one lush and sinuous. The sight was dangerously beautiful. Gulp. I stiffened again. I knew full well that if I pushed that door open, Beatrice would call the police and have me dragged out in cuffs. I tore my eyes away from the glass and muttered, "What rotten luck. If you'd shown up a minute later, I could've at least lost the virginity I've been saving for twenty years to your daughter." I sighed, got back to the bedroom, and hurried into my clothes. After about half an hour, my phone buzzed. Leslie texted, "Head to the kitchen and cook. I told my mom you're the male housekeeper Sergio hired." Huh? I blinked and typed, "What about getting you pregnant?" "Relax, there'll be plenty of chances," she replied. Only then did I relax. Honestly, besides wanting to get Leslie pregnant, the way she treated me mattered just as much. No one wants to be despised. Seeing her start to trust me, I grinned and went downstairs to cook. I had just finished slicing the vegetables when Beatrice came down in a silk nightgown, looking every bit like a lounging socialite. Her outfit was casual, yet her black hair was twisted into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, giving her a different kind of allure. I stopped chopping. Beatrice didn't see me. She sat on the sofa, then sprang up a few seconds later. Fresh from the shower, she must have felt uncomfortable in the gown. She lifted the hem to adjust. I caught a clear glimpse of skin-tone panties, a tiny, sheer triangle-designed to tempt. She moved too fast. I didn't see enough. Gulp. This time I didn't even try to swallow quietly, and Beatrice heard it. Her head snapped up, a flicker of panic on her face. She yanked the hem down and cried, "Ah… who are you? Leslie, quick, there's a burglar in the house!" I held the kitchen knife and tried to explain. "You misunderstand…" "Don't come any closer!" Beatrice panicked. "Mom, that's Wayne Walken," Leslie said. "Sergio hired him as a housekeeper. He comes every day to cook and help with the cleaning." "Male housekeeper?" Beatrice stared. Leslie nodded. "Yes." "No. Tell him to pack his things and get out," Beatrice said without a second thought.

Chapter 9: Beatrice's Arrival

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