Chapter 63

Ollie’s POV

I’m hiding again, tucked away in my room. Even as it’s almost dinnertime, I’m not ready to leave. I’ll just wait again until everyone’s done and focused on other things. Then I’ll sneak upstairs and either heat up some leftovers or make myself something quick, just as I’ve done when I skipped dinners in the past.

With everything that’s happened, I just can’t show my face to the brothers. They might not know that I’m their soulmate, but I know that I’m theirs. After everything that happened… seeing them again right now is just too much to bear.

I’m still avoiding their texts, the burner phone turned on silent and tucked away in the nightstand drawer. I left it on though, which might be a mistake. It’s like I can’t quite close the door all the way on them, even if I know it’s in my best interest to.

With a new library book in hand, I’m about to settle in for a long night of reading when a loud knocking sounds on my door, surprising me so much that I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Ollie!” Conrad calls. “Open this door.”

He’s pounding on the door fiercely enough that I’m almost certain it’s going to bust inward. I hurry to answer it, not wanting him to break my only shield from the rest of the house.

Throwing open the door, I find him standing on just the other side of it in a tank top and gym shorts. With his arms bare, I can see every cord of muscle and have to force myself to stop staring, my throat going dry.

I drag my eyes to his face. He’s looking back at me with a firm, no-nonsense expression.

“You’ve been skipping too many meals,” he says.

“I eat when everyone else is done…” I try to tell him, but his eyes narrow at my words.

“Unacceptable,” he says. “From now on, you will eat with the servants and serve dinners to the family. Consider it practice for when the fall semester begins and you must cater to Sylvia.”

Practice being a servant now so you can be a good servant later.

“Starting tonight,” he says, leaving now room for argument. I’m guessing he won’t leave my doorway without me, so I nod and, setting my book aside, start to head up to the kitchen.

I don’t mind helping out with the servants. They work hard, and as I’m not part of the family anymore, it makes sense for me to contribute in some way, to help earn my keep.

But it does hurt, knowing how far I’ve fallen in the eyes of the family. Once I sat among them at the main table. Now I hurriedly eat in the kitchen between serving the family their dishes.

Sylvia isn’t making the transition any easier for me.

So far, she’s dropped no less than three forks on the floor, and I’ve only served the soup and salad.

“I’m such a butterfingers today,” she says, smiling at me, as I hand her a forth fork.

Just as I’m about to head back to the kitchen, she tips her soup bowl, spilling all over the side of the table. Somehow, miraculously, she manages to get none on herself.

“Oops!” she says.

I hurry for a towel and quickly return.

“Are you feeling well, Sylvia?” Wes asks, the concern in his voice makes my heart ache. I miss our moments shared in the art studio, but that feels like a different life now. “You seem to be somewhat… shaky… this evening.”

Kind hearted Wes can’t see that his sister is purposefully tormenting me, enjoying bossing me around. She didn’t ‘drop’ three forks, she purposefully knocked them to the ground.

I can’t accuse her though. No one would ever believe me.

The brothers and Diana would be more willing to accept that she just isn’t feeling well tonight.

“I am a bit shaky,” she says. “But I think I’m just hungry. I’ll be alright after dinner.”

When I’m done serving her. What a miraculous recovery that will be.

Annoyed, I lean down to clean some of the floor where she spilled her soup. I do so with wild, angry swipes of the towel. Not really paying attention to my surroundings, I back up and accidentally bump against Declan’s chair.

At the same moment, he had been about to take a sip of his soup. It spills now, onto his shirt.

I look up at him, an apology on my tongue.

I don’t get any time to say anything before two strong arms wrap around me. Declan pulls me onto his lap so I’m sitting sideways across his strong thighs.

“Clean it,” he growls, his hands like binds on my hips.

Sitting on his lap like this sends fire into my veins. My cheeks burn.

To end this quickly, I lift the towel and hurriedly tab at the damp spot on his shirt. He’ll need to wash this shirt soon to avoid a stain.

He watches me with his familiar icy gaze.

I keep thinking of him searching through Wes’s art studio, demanding to see me – all while I crawled out the bathroom window to avoid him.

Now I’m in his lap, but he doesn’t know who I am. He has no idea he’s caught his fated mate.

When I’ve done all I can do for the spot, my movements slow. His hands are gripping my hips firmly. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.

I swallow hard. “I’ve finished,” I tell him.

He hums dismissively. Then, leaning in, he says straight into my ear, just loud enough for me to hear, “You should be punished for this. I think what you need is a good spanking by a man with a steady hand.”

At once, images flash through my mind of me bent over Declan’s lap, with my ass in the air. His hand cups my backside, a hint of things to come.

The Declan in my imagination says, “Are you going to be good for me?”

In my fantasy, I squirm, but this causes me to squirm in real life to.

For a flash of a second, I swear I see Declan’s eyes shift, his pupils dilating as he looks at me with new, intense focus.

But then he blinks and he’s cold as ice once more.

He all but shoves me off of him, but I land on my feet and scurry away. As I go, I notice Sylvia glaring at me.

Only when I’m safely back in the kitchen do I allow myself to breathe in an effort to try to calm down.

That one image, of being bent over Declan’s knees, his hand up, ready to spank my ass, stays with me long after I’ve cooled.

The image should not be appealing. I don’t ever want to be hit or hurt, yet... Thinking of Declan and his cold voice and his strong hands…

Warmth spreads low in my belly.

How can this possibly turn me on? Usually I find Declan’s domineering nature to be frustrating, even intimidating at times.

Yet, imagining him palming my ass, getting ready to strike it, is making my body come alive.

Some people like this right? I’m not the odd one out here? And it’s not like I want that kind of scenario with anyone. It’s only with Declan…

Closing my eyes, I try to push away the thoughts. The fantasies.

They don’t matter, because I’m determined not to speak to the brothers as their mate ever again.