Tara stepped aside to make way for Shawn and waited until they had left the dining room before beginning the cleanup. Shawn paused for a moment, adjusted his glasses, then strode out of the dining room. Jonah was composed and left as soon as he finished his meal. Seated diagonally across from Tara, Lambert set his napkin aside. As he stood up, he gave her a long, inscrutable look. Tara met his gaze and was caught off guard. She couldn't figure out why he looked at her like that.

With Lambert now gone from the dining room, Tara quickly dismissed the brief wave of confusion and resumed her tasks alongside the three other housekeepers. Her joints and muscles ached, perhaps from catching a chill the day before. They left the dining room with the thought of taking a quick break in her room. But as she passed through the cozy living room, the soft winter sunlight pouring through the expansive windows caught her attention, pooling warmly on the rug.

Since sunlight never reached her room, she opted to enjoy the warmth here instead. At this hour, she was still with the four men and staff raking their rest. Tara sank into the couch, letting its softness envelop her as she leaned back and massaged her aching shoulders. The sunlight streaming through the windows felt soothing, so she shifted, turning her back to it and settling sideways. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she relaxed in the warmth.

Her black hair caught the sunlight, causing it to shimmer. From time to time, she massaged her aching shoulders. Before long, the comfort lulled her into sleep. In her dream, a pair of hands rested on her shoulders, kneading away the tension. The sensation was vivid and real, blurring the boundary between dream and reality. When Tara stirred awake, the tenderness in her shoulders lingered, as though the dream had left its mark.

Panic surged through her as she instinctively grabbed hold of the hands on her shoulders. Her trembling fingers closed around the man's right hand, the heat of his skin unmistakable against her own. Hastily, she pulled it away from her shoulder. Whirling around in dismay, she came face to face with Lance, standing right behind her. She couldn't fathom when he'd appeared-or how long he'd been there. "Mr. Swain!" she exclaimed. Tara couldn't make sense of what was happening.

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Her flushed cheeks and flustered demeanor only heightened her allure. Her lips, slightly reddened from being bitten, carried an irresistible charm. Lance's voice broke the silence, low and unexpectedly hoarse. "I noticed you kept rubbing your shoulders. I thought you might be in pain." Startled, Tara rose to her feet, meeting his gaze that smoldered with a quiet intensity.

"They're a bit sore," she replied quickly, "but spending some time in the sun should help." Lance's eyes lingered on the faint redness of her collarbone, a trace of the massage. His Adam's apple shifted as his voice dropped even further. "If you're not feeling well, let me know. I can arrange for a private doctor to come." Tara nodded hastily. "I will." Her thoughts remained tangled, unable to meet his piercing gaze. She couldn't help but wonder if Lance's interest was genuine.

From what she recalled-from both the original host's memories and her own-Lance had once been indifferent, even disdainful toward her. His sudden shift to such intimate gestures left her bewildered. As Lance turned and walked away, the tension in his forearms was visible, and the veins and muscles were taut with restraint. Tara rotated her thoughts, questioning everything. Feeling thirsty, Tara filled a cup with warm water from the dispenser and drank it all in.

The sunlight that had felt gentle and soothing earlier now seemed oppressively warm. Around 4:00 pm, Hansell requested Tara to prepare a fruit platter for Baron on the second floor. She expertly selected the fruits she knew he favored, sliced them neatly, and arranged them. Baron opened the door at her knock, his posture relaxed, and his tone casual. "What brings you here?" Tara gave a polite nod. "Mr. Robertson, you wanted fruits. I picked your favorites, Mr.

Farrell." Baron leaned nonchalantly against the wall, his hands casually in his pockets as he watched her enter the living room. After placing the platter on the coffee table, Tara stepped back, casually making her way. She paused, looking up at him in mild confusion. His step let her movement with ease. Turning right yielded the same result-his tall frame still obstructing her path. Feeling slightly exasperated, she said, "Mr.

Farrell, the juice-" His expression momentarily clouded before something shifted in his gaze. "A spell? What do you mean?!" Unable to meet his intense stare, Tara hastily said, "Mr. Farrell, it was just a diversion. Please-"