Chapter 8: THE WRONG BLAKE.

        After resting for a while, I finally pushed myself off the bed. Lying there, overthinking, wouldn't help me keep this job. I needed to do something-anything-to shake off the weight of this afternoon's mistake.

Deciding to check if there was any cleaning up left to do in the kitchen, I made my way downstairs.

As I stepped into the hallway, I nearly collided with someone.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," I blurted out, stepping back quickly.

Samantha, dear," Nadia chuckled, steadying me with a gentle grip on my shoulders. "You seem a little lost in thought."

I let out a nervous laugh, rubbing my forehead. "Oh Nadia your back" I felt an instant joy within me. "Yeah, I guess I am." She responded.

Her warm eyes studied me for a moment before she tilted her head. "Did something happen?"

I hesitated, biting my lip. "Not really... Just a long day."

Nadia's lips pressed into a thin line as if she could see right through me. "Ah, Mr. Blake giving you a hard time again?"

Something about the way she said it made my stomach twist. A hard time? Was that what that was? The smirk, the way his eyes lingered, the way he-

I quickly shook my head, forcing a smile. "I managed to serve him his meal, so I'd say that's progress."

Nadia hummed, her expression thoughtful. "Hmm. Progress indeed."

For some reason, the way she said it made me feel at ease, like I was finally starting to get the hang of things here.

She sighed, adjusting the scarf around her neck. "Well, I just got back from running some errands. Thought I'd check in on you."

"I am so glad you are back, I felt your absence alot" I admitted, relieved to change the subject. "The house felt... empty."

"Ah," Nadia said, nodding. "I had to step out for a bit. But I'm here now."

She patted my arm. "Why don't you sit for a while? While I make you some tea."

I almost said no—after all, I had just gotten up to be productive but the warmth in her voice made me pause. A small break wouldn't hurt.

"Alright," I murmured, following her into the kitchen.....

And the rest of the day went on.

A few days passed, and I found myself growing accustomed to the house.

The kitchen was quiet, save for the soft sounds of breakfast being prepared."

I had woken up early, determined not to make any mistakes. So far, the past few days had been good—no major drama—and it seemed Mr. Blake had started to accept me, even if he hardly showed it. He expected punctuality, and I made sure to give him exactly that."

With a satisfied nod, I turned, ready to prepare the tray—

And nearly dropped the coffee pot.

He was already there.

Leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching me with an unreadable expression.

"Mr. Blake," I blurted, my heart pounding. I hadn't even heard him come in.

His black hair was tousled, and his white shirt hung slightly open, revealing the sharp angles of his collarbone. But his gaze—it wasn't as cold as it had been yesterday. There was something different about it.

Softer? No. Amused.

A tattoo marked his right arm—one I couldn't quite decipher. Which was strange because I could have sworn it was on his left arm the night I arrived and saw him half-naked.

"I didn't expect you to be up this early," I said quickly, feeling oddly self—conscious under his stare. "I was just about to bring you your breakfast."

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. Then, finally, he stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. His gaze roamed over me before settling on my eyes—steady, unmoving, and intense."

"Well," he murmured, "I'm here now." He said after his eyes held mine for seconds that felt like minutes.

I swallowed, nodding quickly. "Yes sir, I-I made coffee just how you like it. And eggs, toast, and fruits."

His lips quirked slightly, almost like he was holding back a smirk. "Good girl."

The words sent a jolt through me, unexpected and disarming. I nearly fumbled with the tray, my pulse quickening. Blake had never called me that before.

I quickly composed myself, lifting the tray. "I'll bring it to your room now."

He stepped aside, watching as I carefully walked past him. Even without looking, I could feel his presence behind me, his gaze burning into my back.

I hurried down the hall, balancing the tray, eager to get this over with. But something nagged at me—something I couldn't quite place.

Something about the way he'd looked at me.

Or the way he'd spoken.

Brushing the thought aside, I reached his room door and gently pushed it open.

I froze.

Blake was already there.

Sitting at his desk.

His piercing black eyes lifted from his laptop, narrowing in confusion. "Ms. White?"

My breath caught in my throat as the tray wobbled slightly in my hands.

Wait. If he was here... then who—

Realization hit me like a freight train.

"Oh my God," I whispered.

Behind me, a deep chuckle rumbled through the air.

Slowly, I turned just in time to see him—the imposter, the one who had tricked me—eaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, black eyes dancing with amusement.

Then that means?....

The breath whooshed out of my lungs as my face flamed with mortification.

He smirked. "Well, that was fun."

I gaped at him, still struggling to process what just happened.

Blake's gaze sharpened, flicking between the two of us. His jaw tensed. "Alan." His tone was dangerously low.

Alan only grinned. "Relax, brother. I was just getting to know your newest employee, I thought you didn't have those anymore." He glanced at me, his smirk deepening. "And I have to say, she doesn't question things much, does she?"

"Ms. White, this is my twin brother, Alan. I apologize for the unexpected introduction—he arrived late last night, and I hadn't had the chance to introduce you yet."

Ah, no wonder something felt off. He looked like him, but he wasn't him. The tattoos, the style of his hair—it all makes sense now."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Alan. I'm Samantha—Samantha White."

Alan chuckled, crossing his arms. "Formal, aren't we? No need for the 'Mr.'—just Alan will do, darling."

He ran a hand through his tousled hair, his smirk never fading. "Relax, darling. No harm done. That was fun—well, for me, at least."

That smile of his? It spelled trouble. Big trouble. The kind I probably shouldn't want... but maybe didn't entirely mind.

"I don't blame you thou, I do get mistaken for my brother a lot," Alan mused, his smirk widening. "Though, I have to admit, it's always entertaining to see the moment of realization hit."

Blake's jaw tensed, his fingers drumming once against the desk before curling into a loose fist. His eyes flicked between Alan and me, unreadable yet sharp, like he was assessing something—dissecting it.

His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the command in it. "Alan. Out. Now."

Alan held up his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. But don't be too hard on her, Blake. She was just trying to be a good girl." He shot me a knowing glance, eyes glinting with mischief.

Heat flushed through me for an entirely different reason this time.

Before I could even think of a response, Alan chuckled and strolled out, leaving the room thick with unspoken tension.

I turned back to Blake, my stomach knotting at the unreadable expression on his face.

"Sir, I-I didn't know—"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "Just... set the tray down."

I obeyed quickly, my hands trembling slightly as I placed his breakfast on the desk.

The silence was unbearable.

"You know it isn't your fault. You don't have to apologize for every little thing."

"Yes sir, thank you."

I hesitated for a moment before muttering, "I should go," turning to leave.

"Samantha."

I stopped.

His voice was quiet but firm. When I turned back, his gaze locked onto mine, and for the first time, I couldn't tell if it was anger or something else simmering beneath the surface.

"Next time," he said slowly, his voice dangerously smooth, "look closer."

I swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

Then, without another word, I fled.

And as I hurried down the hall, my heart hammering against my ribs, I realized one terrifying thing.

Alan Hawthorne was going to be a problem. And how exactly was I supposed to "look closer" when they were nearly identical? No difference, no tell—except maybe the slightest variation in their style of hair. That was it. It was like staring at a perfect reflection, one man mirroring the other....

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