Forbidden Desires in the Mansion

Justin stepped into the room, the weight of Madam Laurent's gaze instantly locking him in place. Warm, but with a sharpness that could slice through steel if it wanted to.

"Justin," she greeted him smoothly, voice like silk, but that look—that damn stern look—told him she was in control.

"Madam Laurent," he nodded, trying not to let his gaze linger too long on her curves, though it was like a magnetic pull. She was dressed for battle, and he was the one losing.

She turned slightly to her daughter, Sasha, who was leaning against the doorway. The warmth in Madam Laurent's eyes flickered, and for a second, her stern tone resurfaced. "Sasha, help Mr. Justin get while I prepare dinner. And address him properly," she added, her eyes narrowing just enough to make the command clear.

Sasha rolled her eyes in that way that made it clear she thought she was way too grown to follow these kinds of rules. "Yeah, yeah. I heard you."