Chapter 137: Chapter 137 Lana’s Housekeeper

Liam had barely stepped foot in front of his house when he paused.

There, standing by the porch with the confidence of a man about to receive a Nobel Prize, was Dickson—but this was not the Dickson he knew. No hoodie, no wrinkled shirt, no stained jeans.

He was wearing a fitted dark navy suit with polished brown shoes, his usually wild hair neatly slicked back, and in his hand… a single red rose.

“What in God’s name…”

When Dickson spotted him, he immediately straightened up and began brushing off his sleeves like he had just wrestled a dust demon. He looked Liam dead in the eye and—like a damn steam engine—started ranting.

“Where the fuck were you, huh? I’ve been standing here like a damn statue for over an hour, you inconsiderate bastard!”

Liam groaned, already rubbing his temple. He couldn’t believe this man was dressed like he was going to propose to someone at a billionaire’s wedding—and still cursing like a sailor.

“Bro,” Liam muttered, “now that you’re dressed like an actual human being, can’t you speak like one too?”

Dickson scoffed and straightened his jacket unnecessarily for the fifth time. “Eloquent your father,” he shot back, nose raised like some spoiled duke. “Don’t let the suit fool you. I’m still me.”

Liam stared at him blankly. “Yeah. Unfortunately.”

Despite himself, Liam couldn’t help but be curious. He was the one who told Dickson to stop by so he could teach him about trading—just a simple casual plan. There had been zero mention of formalwear. Or roses.

“You do know I said we were gonna go over some trading basics, right?” Liam asked, squinting suspiciously. “Like… money stuff. Charts. You didn’t have to come dressed like you were gonna seduce Wall Street.”

Dickson kept glancing around, looking suspiciously evasive all of a sudden.

“Did you hear me?” Liam asked, eyeing him.

Dickson blinked and pretended to examine a nearby butterfly that didn’t exist. “Huh? What’d you say?”

Liam tilted his head. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Dickson cleared his throat, shifted his weight, and then casually asked, “Sooooo… where’s Lana’s house?”

Liam’s expression flatlined.

“Of course,” he muttered, dragging a hand across his face in slow motion. “All this—this whole dramatic look—is for her?”

Dickson didn’t answer, but the eager sparkle in his eyes was all the confirmation Liam needed.

“Unbelievable,” Liam whispered. “You shameless goat.”

Without a word, Liam lazily lifted his hand and pointed toward the house next door.

“She lives there.”

The effect was immediate.

Dickson’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. He turned to the house with gleaming hope in his eyes, then took one dramatic leap off the porch like he was performing a stunt in an action movie, landing perfectly on the grass. He straightened up with a rose in hand and started walking toward Lana’s place like he was about to win The Bachelor.

Liam watched him go, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly… a cruel, devilish smile crept across his face.

“Oh… you want to play romantic?” he muttered to himself.

He stood from the porch and whistled loudly. “Yo, Dickson! Come here real quick!”

Dickson paused, turned his head around mid-stride, his expression irritated. “What now?! My goddess is waiting!”

Liam leaned one arm casually on the little wooden railing connected to the porch, the one that served more as decoration than support. The paint was a little chipped, but it worked fine as a place to lean.

He smirked. “Just a quick heads up. If you knock and a woman opens the door… don’t panic.”

Dickson squinted at him. “Why would I panic?”

“That’s just their housekeeper,” Liam replied smoothly. “She’s a little serious-looking, but if you tip her a two-dollar note, she’ll personally take you up to Lana’s room. It’s how they handle guests they want to impress.”

Dickson’s jaw dropped slightly in awe. “Wait. For real?”

Liam nodded solemnly. “Would I lie to you?”

“Bro…” Dickson clutched his chest like he was holding back tears. “I knew you were a real one. I swear, I’ll pay you back one day. Drinks on me. I’m naming my firstborn after you.”

“Just go,” Liam said, waving him off.

Dickson turned and walked with new pride in his step, pulling out a crumpled two-dollar bill from his wallet like it was a golden ticket to heaven. He marched across the lawn and straight to Lana’s front door, standing tall with his flower and his fake charm, ready to claim what he thought was his romantic destiny.

Liam slowly sat back down on the wooden railing, arms folded, the wicked grin still curling on his lips.

He didn’t move.

He didn’t blink.

He was just waiting.

And watching.

Because he knew exactly what was about to happen.

Dickson stood tall as he knocked firmly on the door of Lana’s house. His fingers trembled just a little—whether from excitement or nerves, even he didn’t know. He adjusted the flower again in his pocket, made sure his suit wasn’t wrinkled, and slicked his hair back one more time for dramatic effect.

Knock. Knock.

A few seconds later, the door creaked open.

Standing behind it was a woman. She was in her early forties but with a strict, no-nonsense face that could send children into hiding. She wore a long, dark green gown and had her arms crossed firmly over her chest. Her eyebrows were drawn tightly together in confusion as her sharp eyes scanned Dickson from head to toe.

“…Who the fuck are you?”

Dickson blinked.

Then, as if her crude tone didn’t pierce his pride, he immediately tilted his head, slowly brushed his fingers through his neatly slicked hair, and gave her what he thought was a charming, flirty smile.

“I’m here to see Lana,” he said smoothly, his tone laced with a rehearsed sense of charm. “Is she home?”

The woman’s brows furrowed deeper.

“No,” she said flatly. “Now fuck off.”

And then she began to shut the door.

But Dickson, oh dear Dickson, decided this was his moment to shine.

He quickly raised a hand and stopped the door mid-swing. His expression became serious. His eyes narrowed like a hero stepping into a final battle. The wind—either by pure luck or karma—swept across his face and tousled his slicked hair just enough to give him a dramatic anime-like effect.

Liam, still sitting on the wooden railing of his porch across the yard, nearly fell off from laughing. His chest shook with silent chuckles as he covered his mouth, watching the unfolding disaster like it was the best reality show ever made.

Back at the door, Lana’s mom narrowed her eyes at Dickson’s persistence.

“I already told you she’s not home,” she said coldly. “Now. Fuck. Off.”

Dickson, ignoring every sign that told him to leave and never come back, reached into his back pocket. Inside was a single crumpled one-dollar note and another right behind it.

He hesitated.

Two dollars… nah, that’s too generous. One should do.

With an awkward smile, he pulled out the one-dollar bill, squeezed it tight like it was the key to a treasure vault, and gently stuffed it into the woman’s hand.

“There you go,” he said with a wink. “Now… if you could kindly lead me to her room, ma’am.”

There was a pause.

The silence was deafening.

Lana’s mother stared down at the pitiful dollar in her hand like it personally insulted her entire bloodline.

But then… her lips curved into something resembling a smile. Something wicked.

“Wait here,” she said softly.

Then she turned around and walked inside, leaving the door half-open.

Dickson’s face lit up in pure joy. He didn’t even try to hide it.

“She’s going to get her!” he whispered, bouncing on the heels of his feet. “Liam didn’t lie! I’m going to see Lana!”

He turned to Liam across the lawn and blew him a flying kiss with both hands. Liam’s smile immediately vanished into a frown as his face twitched in irritation.

“Idiot,” Liam muttered, shaking his head. He sat back on the railing and crossed his legs. “You deserve whatever is coming.”

Dickson, meanwhile, was having the time of his life. He slid the rose from his chest pocket and twirled it with flair. He adjusted his belt, ran his tongue across his lips, and posed like he was about to enter a GQ magazine cover shoot.

Then…

Footsteps.

He perked up immediately, standing upright like a soldier awaiting inspection.

“She’s coming,” he whispered to himself, grinning like a lunatic. “Oh my God, she’s coming.”

The door creaked wider.

But instead of soft footsteps or a feminine voice, all he saw at first… was metal.

A cold, jet-black gun muzzle aimed directly between his eyes.

And behind it—eyes filled with pure murder—stood Lana’s mother, her finger already resting on the trigger.

“GET. YOUR. FUCKING. ASS. OFF. MY. PROPERTY.”

Dickson’s heart dropped into his knees. The smile on his face vanished. His entire body locked up in panic.

“…FUCK ME!!!”

He didn’t wait.

He flung the flower into the air and leaped from their porch like he’d been struck by lightning. He was halfway through his jump when BANG!—a shot rang out.

WHACK!

“AHHHHH!!!” he screamed as the rubber bullet slammed right into his ass mid-air.

His legs flailed as he crashed onto the grass, rolling and groaning like a man who had just been reborn into pain.

“YOU OLD FUCKER!!!” he shouted as he clutched his ass, rolling on the lawn in agony. “WHAT KIND OF HOUSEKEEPER HAS A GUN?!”

From his porch, Liam was laughing so hard he nearly fell over. He couldn’t breathe, wiping tears from his eyes as he watched Dickson flop around like a fish out of water.

The front door of Lana’s house slammed shut with a thunderous bang.

Dickson lay on the ground, face buried in the grass, one hand gripping his ass, the other punching the earth in betrayal.

He turned his face to Liam, eyes wet from pain and betrayal.

“You son of a bitch…” he wheezed. “You set me up…”

Liam shrugged innocently and shouted back, “Meet your crush’s mother.”

Dickson whimpered, “You could’ve warned me she was packing heat! Stupid bitch shot me in the ass man!!!”

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