Page 14 of Dallas Rivals

“I can’t believe this…” I mutter so Lucien won’t hear.

“Don’t despair, Mr. Walker,” I hear her say from the other side of the frame. “We can fix it.”

“Yeah—by taking it apart.”

She ignores me and starts forcing the bed around boxes, and I’ve got no choice but to move with her or end up tumbling down the stupid steps. A few feet later she finds a spot to set it down in the tiny room.

My bathroom’s bigger than this.

She wipes her hands on her jeans and beams.

“Done!”

I look at her—bored, annoyed, borderline threatening—but she acts like I’m invisible and starts stacking her boxes. I glance around, just curious, and the open boxes are full of heavy books. Big ones. And I feel a pang of guilt—this girl should be studying, not hauling her life up rickety stairs.

Maybe I could put her to work in my office instead of out here…

No, Oliver. Are you serious? That’s like letting a bull loose in a china shop.

It’s my first week at Walker Ranch, and I’ve already learned a few things.

For starters—when Daddy used to talk about “the ranch,” I pictured something a little run-down.

Well… turns out I was dead wrong.

Walker Ranch is a paradise.

Everything looks brand-new or fancy—or both.

The horse stables are painted this pure, blinding white. The stone paths that connect every corner light up at night like a fairytale.

My favorite part of Walker Ranch is undoubtedly the lake. It has a picturesque dock where canoes are lined up, inviting peaceful outings on the water. The corrals nearby are always filled with calm, content animals lazily grazing beneath the warm sunlight, creating an atmosphere of serenity that makes each day feel blissful.

The grass is a sight to behold—remarkably uniform in height across expansive acres, and so vibrantly green that it seems almost unreal, like something out of a dream. The trees encircling the property are truly magnificent, towering with broad canopies that stretch wide and evoke the feeling that they have witnessed centuries pass by.

So, about the mansion—Mr. Walker’s place is like a mountain cabin that got a glitzy makeover. It’s huge and super modern, with massive windows everywhere that let in tons of light and give you epic views of the whole ranch. There are balconies and terraces all over, perfect for hanging out and soaking in the scenery. It’s got that rustic vibe but with a lot of class, so honestly, it’s not just a house, it’s the coolest spot on the whole property.

Speaking of my boss, I’ve also learned that Mr. Walker leaves the house every single morning at seven-thirty sharp and comes back at exactly two p.m.

Not a minute late.

Not a second early.

But that doesn’t mean he sleeps in.

No, sir.

He wakes up at five every morning just to watch me from his fancy house with a damn pair of binoculars.

Yep. I said binoculars.

Rule number one of every psycho: own the best pair money can buy.

Though, to be fair, I don’t think he does it out of pure creepiness. More like… obsessive control issues.

Which brings me to lesson number two: the man’s got serious trust problems. His way is the only way, and if I don’t follow it to the letter—God help me.

He’s basically a dictator.