Part 2The Maid Model Caught Feelings

The next morning, I instinctively reached out to the other side of the bed, my hand hitting cold, empty sheets.

It took my brain a few seconds to reboot. When it did, a hollow ache settled in my stomach. I’d grown so used to the heavy, silent weight of Hudson’s presence nearby. Without it, the room felt cavernous.

I forced myself up, showered, and headed to the kitchen. Hudson was already there, hovering over the stove. He was wearing the pale pink apron I’d bought him as a joke—the strings tied loosely around his lean waist. He looked devastatingly handsome, his profile clean and sharp against the morning light.

I spat out my toothpaste foam and cursed the manufacturers in my head. Why would you make a housekeeping unit look like a literal dark fantasy? It was a waste of perfectly good aesthetics.

I sat at the breakfast nook, waiting for my eggs.

To my shock, Hudson didn't put the plate on the table. Instead, he walked over, hooked an arm under my knees, and lifted me effortlessly into his lap.

"Wait—what are you doing?" I gasped, my hands flying up to his chest to create some distance.

Hudson’s grip on my waist tightened. He caught my wrist, forcing me to look up into his eyes. They were dark, unreadable, and intensely focused.

"Aren't I supposed to feed you?" he asked, his voice low.

In the past, frustrated by his coldness, I’d assigned him "intimacy chores" to force a bond. One of those chores was feeding me breakfast while I sat on his lap.

He’d hated it at first. His body would be stiff as a board, his jaw clenched. But I’d been a tyrant—I’d told him if he didn't feed me, I wouldn't eat. Eventually, he’d succumbed. It had become part of our routine.

But now? Now that I knew I was basically harassing a service worker? I couldn't do it.

I scrambled out of his lap, nearly tripping over my own feet. "No, no. That’s fine. I can eat by myself from now on."

Hudson watched me for several seconds, his gaze unwavering. Then, he turned his head away, his voice flattening. "Right. I suppose it’s time you learned some independence."

I winced. He’d clearly been waiting for the day he didn't have to deal with my clinginess. I’d been so blind.

After breakfast, Hudson moved with his usual efficiency, clearing my plate and grabbing the keys to the Vespa. He held out my helmet, ready to drop me off at the office.

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the awkwardness thicken. This was another thing I’d forced on him. I loved riding behind him, using the excuse of "safety" to wrap my arms around his waist and feel his abs through his shirt. A ten-minute commute usually took twenty because I’d find ways to distract him.

I used to live for those twenty minutes. Now, I couldn't bear the thought of making him uncomfortable for a second longer.

I snatched the helmet from his hand. "Actually... you don't need to drive me anymore. I'll just take an Uber. Or walk. I need the steps."

Hudson froze. His hand stayed extended in the air for a beat too long.

Before he could say anything, I ducked my head and bolted out the door.

I was giving him his freedom. No more forced touching, no more awkward intimacy. He had to be thrilled, right?