Madam Laurent

Justin had seen a lot in his life.

And yet—

Here he was, walking through his own damn home, coming back from work, and still getting hit with this.

They were walking, Sasha leading the way like she owned the world, her ponytail swinging with every confident step. Parker was keeping up, hands shoved in his pockets, looking around at the mansion. It was clean. Too clean. The kind of clean that felt expensive. The kind that made you paranoid about breathing too hard in case you ruined something.

And then, she came into view.

The Head Maid. Madame Laurent.

If Sasha was trouble, her mother was the full fucking disaster.

Justin's home was a masterpiece. Expensive. Elegant. A place where only the best resided. And standing near the grand windows, bathed in that soft evening glow, was a woman so violently gorgeous that for a second—just a second—he almost forgot to breathe or the graduer of his own mansion and only focused on this woman.