AT YOUR SERVICE MADAM

Chapter 9- Fakes

LUCAS’S POV

I didn’t want to be here.

Not one damn bit.

The long, polished table in front of me gleamed like it was mocking me—its shine, its perfection, everything about it screamed Draven money. My father’s house always had that effect. Cold walls, colder hearts. Every corner smelled like wealth and hypocrisy.

I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, trying to ignore the tension pressing against my chest. The morning light streamed through the tall glass windows, falling over the fancy plates and the untouched food. It all looked perfect. Too perfect.

Just like this family pretended to be.

“Lucas,” my father said, his deep, commanding voice breaking the silence. “I’m glad you could finally join us.”

Glad. Right.

I almost laughed. The only reason I was here was because he’d called three times and left a message saying ‘Don’t embarrass the family again.’ I didn’t know what that meant anymore. Maybe existing was an embarrassment.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I muttered, keeping my tone flat.

Across the table, Cameron sat with that smug look on his face, his posture perfect, his shirt crisp, and his expression full of fake charm. The golden child. The heir. The man who’d never lifted a damn finger in his life.

He caught my eye and smiled like he was already planning something cruel.

Of course he was.

The last time we’d been in the same room, he’d “accidentally” spilled wine on me and called it karma. That was Cameron Draven—clean hands, dirty soul.

Our father cleared his throat. “Now that we’re all here, let’s try to have a civilized breakfast for once.”

Civilized. That was his favorite word. What he really meant was don’t make me look bad.

I glanced around the table—my father at the head, wearing his usual expression of disappointment; my stepmother, Elizabeth, pretending to smile like everything was fine; and Cameron, sitting just close enough that I could feel the heat of his ego burning beside me.

The clinking of silverware was the only sound for a while. I picked at the edge of my plate, not really hungry. I just wanted to leave.

Then Cameron decided to open his mouth.

“So, tell me, brother,” he began, his tone dripping with fake sweetness. “How’s the whole… fixing pipes thing going?”

There it was. The first shot fired.

I didn’t look at him. I knew better than to give him what he wanted. “Fine,” I said simply.

“Fine?” he echoed, laughing under his breath. “Come on, Lucas. You can’t seriously think that’s a career. Fixing toilets and changing light bulbs? Doesn’t sound very… ambitious.”

I clenched my jaw, keeping my voice calm. “Not everyone needs to wear a suit to feel important.”

Cameron’s grin widened. “Sure. But it must be hard making a living like that. You know, as a handyman, you’re not exactly swimming in cash.”

My fingers curled around the edge of the table. Don’t bite. That’s what I told myself. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

But he kept going. “I mean, for a broke man like you, you’ve got a lot of arrogance. You should really learn your place. I’ve got the looks, the money, and the fiancée. What do you have?”

At that, something inside me snapped.

I looked up slowly, meeting his smug, polished face with a cold stare.

He had no idea how close he was to getting his teeth rearranged.

I almost laughed—but not from humor. It was disbelief. Pure disbelief at how blind he was.

“You think that makes you better than me?” I asked quietly.

Cameron blinked, caught off guard for half a second. “It’s not about being better. It’s about winning. And let’s face it, brother—between us, I’ve already won.”

I leaned forward slightly, my voice low but sharp. “You’ve got nothing compared to me, Cameron.”

He frowned, his fake confidence flickering for a second. “Excuse me?”

I smirked. “You’re nothing but a leash. Taking crumbs from a woman and pretending it’s a feast.”

The silence that followed was thick. Heavy.

Even Elizabeth’s fake smile dropped.

Cameron’s face turned red. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Before I could answer, my father’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Enough.”

He slammed his hand on the table, the sound echoing through the dining room. “I will not tolerate this childish behavior under my roof.”

Typical. Always stepping in to defend his golden boy.

He turned to me, his tone cold. “I had so much faith in you, Lucas. I thought maybe one day you’d do something worthwhile with your life. But fixing broken doors and leaking pipes? That’s not success. That’s failure.”

The words didn’t sting anymore. I’d heard worse. I’d lived worse.

Still, I felt that familiar burn in my chest—the one that came every time he looked at me like I was some broken thing he couldn’t fix.

“You’re a Draven,” he continued. “Start acting like one. Stop dragging the family name through the mud.”

I stared at him for a long second. Then I pushed my chair back and stood up.

“I think we’re done here.”

Elizabeth’s voice came out soft, pleading. “Come on, Lucas. Can’t we just eat as a family for once?”

I turned to her, meeting her painted, perfect face. “I’m busy,” I said. “I’ve got doors and pipes to fix. You all should go on with your fancy breakfast.”

Cameron scoffed behind me, muttering something under his breath. I ignored him.

But as I started walking away, my father’s voice rose again. “Lucas!”

I stopped but didn’t turn around.

His voice was sharp, heavy with years of authority. “Don’t you dare walk away from me.”

I let the silence stretch, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on. Then I said quietly, “If you really knew me as your son, you’d know I’m more than what you see me for.”

And with that, I walked out.

The sound of my boots echoed down the marble hallway, each step pulling me further from the suffocating perfection of that room.

By the time I reached the front door, my chest was tight—but not from anger. Not entirely.

It was something else.

Something bitter.

Something like remembering what it felt like to want your father’s approval—and realizing you’d stopped wanting it a long time ago.

I pushed the door open and stepped out into the sunlight.

The air hit me hard—warm, real, alive.

Inside that house, everything was glass and silence. Out here, it was real air and freedom.

I walked toward my truck, my mind still replaying every word from that breakfast. Cameron’s smirk. My father’s cold voice. Elizabeth’s fake sympathy.

Same story. Different day.

I leaned against the side of the truck, staring at my reflection in the window. Oil-stained hands. Calloused knuckles.

A Draven, my father had said.

Yeah. Maybe I was one. Just not the kind he wanted.

He wanted control. I wanted peace.

He wanted a son to be proud of. I just wanted to be left alone.

I dragged a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. The anger was still there, simmering under my skin—but beneath it was something sharper.

A memory.

A flash of brown eyes.

Avela.

I could still see her standing on my porch this morning, staring at me like she couldn’t decide whether to run or stay. The way she’d blushed when I caught her looking. The way her voice had trembled when she said thank you.

God, the way she looked at me.

Fake or not, it had done something to me. Something I didn’t want to think about.

Because while Cameron bragged about his perfect fiancée, the woman he’d once owned is planning against him, and I'm the one helping her.

I couldn’t explain it, but there was a strange satisfaction in that.

Not revenge. Not yet.

Something deeper.

Something dangerous.