His lips curved into a faint smirk as the thought settled. Could Oliver have seen something? It made sense—he was the driver, after all. He must have seen Victoria the day she gave me the McLaren. That wasn't the kind of thing a servant could ignore, and it'd explain why he was suddenly so eager to keep the peace. Oliver and Rachel might've been cautious before, but now? They were downright scared.
Dick didn't let the realization show on his face. "So, it's Oliver who's been telling you to act like this?" he asked, his tone light, almost conversational, but Rachel wasn't fooled.
"Yes, sir," she said again, her voice tight.
He studied her for a moment, taking in the subtle shifts in her posture, the way her hands fidgeted nervously. Smart man, Dick thought. Oliver knew better than to get involved in something he didn't fully understand. Mrs. Harper wasn't part of the Graves Estate, but her influence carried weight, and if Oliver had caught even a glimpse of her interaction with Dick, he would've known that stepping out of line wasn't an option anymore.
"So, you're saying Oliver wants you to be more respectful?" Dick said, leaning casually against the counter, finishing his apple. His gaze slid over to Rachel, "He's a smart man. Knows when not to step on toes."
Rachel's breath hitched, sensing there was more to come.
"But it's always been weird how he didn't realize you were fucking Marc behind his back." Dick's tone was conversational, like he was talking about the weather.
Rachel's reaction was immediate—her eyes shot toward him, wide with shock, pupils dilating as if she'd been caught in headlights. "W-what?" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, her body stiffening.
Dick smirked, amused by her response. "Oops," he drawled lazily, pushing himself off the counter. "Shouldn't I know about it? I mean, it was pretty obvious."
Rachel's face flushed crimson, her mouth opening and closing like she was trying to form words but failing miserably. Her hands froze in place.
"I—I don't know what you're talking about," she finally managed, her voice shaky but trying to hold onto some semblance of composure.
Dick stepped closer, his smirk never fading. "Oh, come on, Rachel. Let's not play dumb now. You really think Oliver's the only one blind enough not to notice the way you and Marc used to sneak off together during his shifts?"
She swallowed hard, her eyes darting toward the kitchen door, as if weighing her options for escape. But she knew better. Dick had her pinned—there was no getting out of this one.
"I—" she started again, but the words died in her throat.
"Relax," Dick said, leaning against the counter once more, his tone almost soothing. "I'm not going to tell Oliver. I just find it interesting that you're so eager to follow his advice about being respectful now, considering how disrespectful you've been to him."
Rachel's breath came in short, shallow bursts, her face still flushed with embarrassment and fear. She knew she was cornered, and Dick wasn't letting up.
"H-how long—?" she stuttered, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Dick grinned, leaning in slightly, his voice full of amusement. "You mean to ask for how long I've known?" He paused, pretending to think for a moment, his tone exaggerated. "Probably for years."
Rachel's eyes widened in shock, her entire body tense. "Then why?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why didn't you…"
"Why didn't I use it against you?" Dick finished for her, his tone calm but pointed. "Why didn't I call you out when you were acting like a condescending bitch, treating me like trash? Why didn't I put you in your place?"
Rachel blinked, clearly taken aback by his directness, but she couldn't deny it. She had always been dismissive, acting as if she was above him, superior simply because of false security she thought she had for being Clara's handmaid. And now? Now, she was at his mercy.
"Well, if I were to bully you with this," Dick began, leaning back against the counter with a smirk, "I'd just be part of the same damn cycle, wouldn't I? Punching down, like everyone else has done to me." He watched as Rachel stiffened, her body tense as if bracing for an impact. But there was no malice in his voice, no cold calculation. "I'm not like that. Never have been."
Rachel's eyes darted up, meeting his for a brief moment before flicking away. She looked confused. "Then why…?" she trailed off.
Dick shrugged, pushing off the counter and taking a step closer to her. "Because I don't like forcing people," he said, his voice calm but firm. "I don't need to manipulate you or anyone else to get what I want. And I sure as hell don't need to use some dirty little secret to have power over you."
Her breath hitched, and she looked up at him, truly meeting his gaze for the first time. There was something in her eyes—a flicker of relief mixed with a cautious kind of respect. She had expected him to be like the others, to take advantage of her vulnerability. But instead, he was offering her something else entirely. Something she hadn't expected: mercy.
"I..." Rachel started, her voice shaky. "I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything," Dick replied, stepping past her toward the door. "Just remember this: I don't need to control people through fear or coercion. That's not how I play the game."
eaving the kitchen, Dick walked out of the main house and headed toward the Servant House. He had some time to kill and the idea of messing with Serena, the estate's financial manager, was too tempting to pass up. She'd always been an insufferable cunt—Sirius's devoted lapdog, judging Dick as unworthy purely because Sirius did.
She managed the day-to-day expenses, salaries, all the boring administrative shit that kept the Graves Estate running smoothly. Her husband, Marc, the estate's chef, had been fucking Rachel for years, and Serena, clueless as she was, had never caught on. Or maybe she didn't want to. Maybe she hated Marc just enough to not care about his wandering dick. Dick wasn't sure, but he wasn't here to psychoanalyze her marriage.
He reached the Servant House, glancing up at the dull, functional building. It was a far cry from the opulence of the Graves mansion. Nothing about it suggested the luxury the rest of the estate boasted. Inside, he found Serena in her office, bent over her desk, pouring over financial records like the numbers would somehow make her life less pathetic.
She didn't notice him at first, so he leaned against the doorframe, watching her. The woman was always impeccably dressed, her clothes neat, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. There was no softness to her, no warmth—just sharp lines and cold efficiency. Her eyes were fixed on the ledger in front of her, the furrow between her brows deepening as she scribbled something down.
"Busy, Serena?" Dick finally spoke, his voice casual, but with that hint of smug amusement he knew would get under her skin.
She jumped slightly, her pen jerking across the page as she looked up, her expression instantly hardening. "What do you want, Dick?" Her tone was clipped, her disdain evident.
He smirked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "Just checking in. Thought you might want some company."
Serena's eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I don't need company," she snapped, turning back to her ledger, clearly hoping he'd take the hint and leave.
But Dick wasn't going anywhere. He moved closer, walking around the desk until he was standing right behind Serena, close enough to see the tension in her shoulders, the way her body stiffened at his proximity. She kept her eyes on the ledger, refusing to acknowledge him, but he could feel the heat radiating off her skin.
He leaned in, his voice low and teasing. "I think you missed a number there."
Her hand twitched slightly, but she didn't turn. "I don't need your input," she said tightly, her voice laced with frustration.
Dick chuckled softly, enjoying how easily he could get under her skin. "Relax, Serena. I'm not here to mess with your precious accounts."
Serena's hand froze, and she turned to look at him, her eyes cold as ice. "Then what are you here for?" she asked, her voice clipped, betraying her irritation.
He shrugged casually, taking a seat on the edge of her desk, his legs crossing as he leaned back, watching her. "Just wanted to see how you were doing. After all, you work so hard for this estate. Thought you might appreciate a little company. Maybe a break."
Serena's lips thinned even further, her hand twitching toward the ledger as if she were considering whether or not to continue working. "I don't need a break," she said tightly, her eyes darting to the door as though planning an escape route.
Dick leaned forward, his smirk widening. "Come on, Serena. I know you better than that. All this time you've been keeping up appearances, acting like everything's under control. But I can see it. You're exhausted."
Her eyes flickered, the faintest crack in her icy demeanor. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you do," Dick replied, his voice smooth as he slid off the desk and walked around to stand behind her. "You're running yourself ragged, keeping the estate in line, making sure everything runs smoothly. You're the glue holding it all together."
He touched her shoulders, feeling the tension coiled there, like she was ready to snap. "Just so Sirius might appreciate you. Praise you." His voice was low, the edge of amusement unmistakable. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "But he's blind, isn't he? Has no time for poor Serena. I remember how devastated you were when he married Clara."
Serena stiffened, her eyes narrowing, but she didn't pull away. Dick's words hit harder than she wanted to admit. She had spent years, countless hours, bending over backward to keep the estate running smoothly, to ensure that Sirius had everything he needed, all while silently hoping for some recognition, something more. But instead, she had been left in the shadows, watching as Sirius paraded Clara around like some trophy wife. And when Stacey, that vapid, air-headed bimbo, entered the picture? It was like a final insult.
"How did it feel when you found out he was fucking Stacey?" Dick asked, his tone deceptively casual as his hands squeezed her shoulders, digging into the knots there with care and control.
Serena's jaw clenched, her fingers tightening around the pen she had been using. "I don't care about Sirius's affairs," she replied through gritted teeth, though the words came out a little too quickly, a little too forced.
Dick chuckled softly, his fingers still working into the tight muscles of her neck. "You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me." His hands moved down to her upper back, his touch slow but caring, almost soothing, but with just enough pressure. "You've been carrying this weight for too long. Doing everything to keep this place from falling apart, and for what? A man who doesn't even see you?"
Serena stayed silent, her body rigid under his touch. Dick's words were burrowing under her skin, striking at the core of everything she tried so hard to ignore. But she couldn't deny it—she had wanted Sirius's attention for years, and instead, she'd watched him drift further and further away, falling for younger, prettier women who didn't even have half her competence.
"Imagine," Dick continued, his voice softening into a near whisper, "if someone actually appreciated what you brought to the table. Saw you for the strong, capable woman you are." His hands slid lower, his fingers brushing the fabric of her blouse, teasing the hem.