Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 5

Lydia’s POV

The inside of the house was even worse than the outside.

Worse, because now I had to physically stand inside it and accept that this was where I was expected to live.

The space swallowed me the second I stepped in.

The entrance opened into a massive living area with floors so polished I could practically see my stress reflecting back at me. Floor to ceiling windows stretched across one side of the room, letting in soft afternoon light that spilled over cream walls, expensive art, glass tables, and furniture that looked too rich to be sat on carelessly.

Everything looked clean.

Like one of those houses in luxury magazines where nobody ever seems to actually live.

I turned slowly, taking it in.

A sound behind me made me turn.

A man in a perfectly pressed black suit approached with the calm expression of someone who had probably seen a lot more dramatic brides than me.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said with a slight bow. “Welcome home.”

I almost laughed.

Home.

That was ambitious.

“I am Bernard,” he continued. “Mr. Ashton’s butler.”

Before I could even respond, more people began to appear.

And then I understood.

This was one of those houses.

The kind where staff emerged in shifts like a carefully managed production.

They lined up neatly in front of me, each introducing themselves one after the other.

Cook.

Housekeeper.

Laundry attendant.

Gardener.

Cleaner.

Driver.

Another cleaner.

Possibly another cook.

At some point, I stopped trying to remember who was who because my brain had officially reached its processing limit for the day.

I nodded politely through all of it.

Smiled once or twice.

Pretended to be less exhausted than I actually was.

By the time they were done, I was one more introduction away from evaporating.

Bernard must have noticed because he stepped forward again and said, “If you’d like, ma’am, I can give you a tour of the house.”

A tour?

I blinked at him.

Then at the giant staircase.

Then at the endless hallway visible from where I stood.

Then back at him.

Absolutely not.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Just… where’s my room?”

Something flickered briefly in his expression, but it disappeared too fast for me to read.

“Of course, ma’am. This way.”

I followed him upstairs.

The upper floor was just as ridiculous as downstairs.

Long hallway.

Tall doors.

Everything in this house felt expensive enough to have its own security detail.

Bernard stopped in front of two rooms facing each other at the far end of the corridor.

One door was larger.

Darker.

More imposing.

The other was still huge but softer somehow.

He gestured to the larger one first.

“That is the master bedroom.”

Then he turned to the other.

“And this is yours.”

Yours.

Not yours and his.

Not your room for now.

Just yours.

That should have bothered me more than it did.

Instead, I found myself reaching for the handle.

The room opened into soft pink.

Subtle blush curtains.

Cream walls.

A bed so large.

A sitting area by the window.

A vanity.

A bookshelf.

Fresh flowers.

Everything was elegant and carefully arranged, like somebody had tried very hard to imagine what a woman might want and then thrown money at the answer.

I stepped inside slowly.

My eyes moved over the details.

The gold trimmed mirror.

The upholstered chair in the corner.

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