Chapter 81: Inner Voice, Part 8

“Master.”

Sam recognized that voice immediately. How could he forget the toy he’d sent far away long before the massacre, hoping to use her as bait? It hadn’t worked at all, but he was grateful simply because it meant she had survived. If she’d been at the mansion then, he’d probably have had to kill her too. Probably. Maybe he would have, maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, the important thing was that she was here at last.

Sam closed his book, lowering it onto his lap, revealing the person standing behind it. Isabella, as sexy as ever, a rich, mature piece of flesh in a tight maid’s dress. To be honest, he was tempted to tell her to get on her knees. No one was around at the moment; everyone else was inside the mansion. But someone could come out at any moment. Not that he cared, really—just as long as his sisters didn’t catch him. He soon decided the risk wasn’t worth it.

“Isabella. I’m glad you’re finally here. Some of the servants beat you to it, but I’ll forgive your lateness.”

For a change, Sam was in a playful mood. Perhaps due to her lack of practice, Isabella didn’t take it that way. She bowed with a tense expression, as if expecting punishment.

“Come on, it’s a joke. I’ve always treated you well, haven’t I? You know I’m a good master since I saved you and your family.”

Isabella straightened up, swallowing hard.

“I know. It’s just that I’m nervous. After everything that happened... I can’t imagine what you’re going through. And after you were so kind, saving me and my family out of pure goodness. The world is so unfair.”

The poor fool even had tears in her eyes. Sure, fools were his favorite kind of people, but it still struck him as ridiculous that she’d get so emotional over someone like him. He should probably take it as a sign his mask was working as intended.

Sam wondered if he should lay all his cards on the table, cut the nonsense, and see if she could be trusted. He decided to go with a half-truth.

“Don’t be so sorry. After all, the family members I care about survived. It’s not that I’m happy, but since Christina and Violet made it, I can live with it. You understand.”

“I guess I’m glad it didn’t affect you as much as I thought.”

“You guess?”

“Well, of course I am.” Isabella blushed even more deeply. “But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, just kidding. I’m in a good mood for a change.”

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Sam glanced around. The mansion was nearly as good as new. Soon it would look like nothing had ever happened there. Even the ghosts were gone. Metaphorically, of course. According to one of the library books, ghosts didn’t exist.

Evelyn’s mother, whose name he no longer even remembered, had fallen for it all the same. But then, she was a grieving mother. She would’ve believed anything. If he hadn’t had to kill her afterward, he would’ve made her swallow something specific.

“Can I ask why?” said Isabella. “Why you’re in such a good mood?”

“Well, the repairs are going well. Almost everything’s finished. The three of us are at peace. No more disputes over the inheritance. No more schemes. No more defending our plans against each other. Our minds always running a mile a minute… to screw and not be screwed.”

Sam laughed.

“I know it sounds horrible, but we’re much calmer now than before all this. It’s not that I’m grateful exactly, but I can’t complain either. Oh, and besides, you’re here.” Sam smiled almost seductively. “That’s reason enough to be happy, don’t you think? You’re a sight for sore eyes and ears. Our most faithful maid. Well, mine, because you’re mine.”

He put a special emphasis on that word, making her shiver. He noticed. She was putty in his hands, the poor little slut. Of course she was. Ever since he saved her, he’d known she’d be eating out of his hand for the rest of her life, no matter what he did afterward.

“Thank you, sir,” the maid stammered, blushing even harder.

Seeing her like that, it was hard to believe she was nearly forty. She was acting like a love-struck schoolgirl. Or something close to it, without the romance part, at least as far as she knew, for a boy barely of age.

Sam considered ordering her to his bed that night, assuming he could get rid of his clingy sisters. He quickly dismissed the idea, concluding that he hadn’t gained enough control over his sisters yet to enjoy other playthings and risking them catching him in the act wasn't pleasant. Still, since they were alone and he was in the mood, he reached out to slap her rear, but didn’t stop there. He squeezed her flesh, pressing his fingers into it. She had a fine rear.

She didn’t react at all—didn’t make a sound, blush, flinch, or protest. She acted as though she’d expected it, almost as if she thought it was perfectly natural. Smiling smugly, Sam gave her another squeeze before pulling his hand back.

“How could I not be happy? It seems everyone now knows their place, exactly where I like them. So don’t worry about me, Isabella; I have exactly what I want, right where I want it.”

Some inconveniences remained, without a doubt. Michael still hadn’t appeared, even though two days had passed since then. Yes, around two days—one might say he was impatient, but considering they were talking about the damned end of the world, he didn’t think so. He liked the world, this place where he lived, for fuck’s sake. Anyway, yes, there were one or two drawbacks, but for the most part, everything had gone exactly as planned. And, for what it was worth, he’d felt a bit afraid she might take what made him hers first.

She’d offered her body rather than investigating his father’s room, thinking that’s what he’d wanted. He remembered their first conversation clearly: she hadn’t objected, but she hadn’t exactly been willing, either. He had no idea what had changed while she’d been away, but regardless, he had no intention of “looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Come,” he ordered, rising from his chair and heading back to the mansion. “I’ll show you your new room, and my sisters can fill you in on the details. I’m not in the mood to recap what we’ve been through. They’re a bit reluctant... but if I tell them to, they’ll do it. I want you up to date, and I want you to be my faithful maid.”

Isabella nodded, always walking a step behind him, like his shadow.

“Of course, master,” she said.

Inner Voice, Part 8: END