POV: Elena, the Maid
The Wolfe mansion was always cold.
Not the kind of cold that came from air conditioning or the thick, expensive walls that shut out the sun. It was colder than that. It was a silence, a stiffness in the air. A place where the walls whispered secrets, but no one dared speak aloud.
Elena felt it from the moment she stepped in as a maid.
She was told it was a simple job: clean, serve meals, do laundry, and stay invisible. Keep your head down, they said. Never speak unless spoken to. And most importantly—never, ever cross paths with the man of the house.
But that last part? That had already been broken.
Twice.
She moved silently across the polished marble floor, a duster in one hand, a tray of folded napkins in the other. Her plain black uniform hugged her tightly around the waist, modest and crisp. Her hair was pinned back neatly, her lips bare, her face soft and unreadable.
But her mind wasn't quiet.
Not after last night.
Not after he came to her room.
Elena blinked away the thought just as the bedroom door across the hall creaked open. She stiffened immediately, eyes lowered.
Camille Wolfe stepped out, wearing a red silk robe over a fitted dress, every strand of her golden hair in place. Her makeup flawless. Her stare? Razor sharp.
"Elena," she said coolly. "Where are my black stilettos?"
"In the closet, second shelf, ma'am," Elena replied quickly, keeping her gaze on the floor.
Camille looked her over slowly, her expression unreadable. "You always answer before I finish. That's either efficiency… or guilt."
Elena's stomach knotted. "I only try to be efficient, ma'am."
A pause.
"You're quiet. Too quiet. That worries me." Camille moved closer, slowly. "My husband likes silence. I don't. Silence hides things."
Elena's heart pounded in her chest. "I—I don't hide anything."
Camille's lips curled into a slight smile. "Good. Let's keep it that way."
She walked past, her perfume trailing like poison in the air.
Elena remained frozen until she was out of sight. Her hands were trembling.
Camille didn't know. She couldn't. Could she?
But Elena did have something to hide.
Xavier Wolfe. The man she served. The man she feared. The man she craved.
✨ Flashback — Three Nights Ago
It was past midnight.
She had just finished tidying the upstairs lounge when she heard it—a soft knock. Her door. Three gentle taps.
She froze.
No one ever came to the servant wing at night. No one was allowed to.
She opened the door cautiously—and there he was.
Xavier Wolfe, tall, powerful, dressed in black slacks and a white shirt, sleeves rolled. His dark hair was a little messy. His voice was low and dangerous.
"You left a book in the library," he said simply.
Her book. She had forgotten it that afternoon.
"I—I'm sorry, sir—"
He stepped in before she could finish. Closed the door behind him.
Her breath caught.
"What's it about?" he asked, eyes scanning her face.
She held the book close to her chest. "Romance… I think."
"You read this?" he asked, tilting his head. "A story about men who fall in love with the help?"
"I don't—It's just fiction."
He stepped closer. Too close. Her knees nearly gave out.
His fingers touched her chin, tilted her face upward.
"Do you like that idea, Elena?"
Her heart thundered.
He didn't kiss her. Not at first.
He just looked at her, as if peeling back every layer she tried to hide. Then, without warning, his mouth crashed onto hers—hungry, demanding, filled with heat.
She melted against him, helpless.
That night, he didn't speak again. He just took.
And she gave.
Again. And again.
Part 2 — Unseen Doesn't Mean Unfelt
The memory still clung to her skin.
Elena hadn't been the same since that night. No matter how much she tried to forget, her body remembered everything — the way his hands gripped her thighs, the sound of his voice when he growled her name, the way her breath caught as he—
"Elena."
She jumped at the voice behind her.
Xavier Wolfe stood at the end of the hallway, just like a shadow slipping into daylight. He had changed since morning — dark suit, no tie, collar open just enough to show the edge of his strong neck.
He looked like danger dressed as desire.
"Y-Yes, sir?" she managed.
His eyes scanned her—fast but intense. "In my office. Now."
She swallowed hard, unsure if it was an order about work… or something more.
Still, she obeyed.
Inside the Office
The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence was deafening.
Xavier didn't look at her at first. He walked to his desk, adjusted the papers on it, then leaned against the edge—arms folded, eyes narrowed.
"Do you enjoy making my wife suspicious?"
Elena's heart stopped. "What?"
"She's watching you," he said, voice low. "She's asking questions. About your silence. Your quick answers. Your shaking hands."
"I—I've done nothing wrong," she whispered.
He tilted his head. "You let me into your bed."
Her eyes widened.
"You think that doesn't count?" he asked, voice cruel and quiet.
"It wasn't supposed to happen," she breathed.
"No," he agreed. "But it did."
He pushed off the desk and stalked toward her. His footsteps were slow, calculated. She backed into the wall without meaning to.
"You think I feel something for you, Elena?" he whispered, caging her in. "Because I don't."
She looked away, shame burning behind her eyes.
"You're a distraction," he continued. "A body. Nothing more."
He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. "But I crave you anyway. And that… that pisses me off."
His hand grazed her waist, his fingers spreading across the curve of her hip. Her breath caught. She hated that she wanted more.
She hated that his words hurt more than they should.
"I can't stay here," she whispered.
"You will," he said darkly. "You'll keep your mouth shut. You'll do your job. And at night… you'll open the door."
She flinched.
"Unless you want Camille to know." His voice was silk now. Deadly silk.
That was the trap.
And she'd walked straight into it.
Later That Night
Elena stood by her small window, arms wrapped around her body. The city lights glowed in the distance, but they felt a world away.
She wanted to scream. To cry. To run.
But she couldn't do any of that.
Not when her heart beat faster every time she remembered his touch.
Not when her lips still burned with the memory of his kiss.
There was a knock. Soft. Familiar.
She didn't move.
Another knock.
"Elena," his voice called. Low. Gentle. Terrible.
She opened the door.
Part 3 — Touched in Darkness
Elena stepped aside, barely able to breathe as Xavier entered her room.
No words were spoken. There never were. Not at night.
He locked the door behind him. Not that anyone dared walk down the servant hallway this late. But still, he locked it. Maybe that was the only form of control left between them.
She stood in silence, facing him, arms tight around her chest. He stared at her for a long moment — like a man starving and furious that he was starving for her.
"I shouldn't be here," he said, but he didn't leave.
Her voice was a whisper. "Then go."
He didn't.
Instead, he stepped forward, his hand brushing against her wrist. Just one touch. That's all it took for her to melt.
His fingers traveled up her arm slowly, as if tracing a path he already knew by heart. His thumb brushed her collarbone, then slid higher, grazing the side of her throat.
Her eyes fluttered shut.
He leaned down, mouth ghosting against her cheek. "You smell like guilt."
"You make me feel like sin," she whispered back.
His mouth claimed hers in one hard, aching kiss — full of punishment and need. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, deeper, until all she could do was hold on.
She didn't care anymore.
She wanted this.
Even if it destroyed her.
Some Time Later...
Elena lay in silence, the sheets tangled around her bare skin, the warmth of his body already fading as he dressed in the dark.
Xavier buttoned his shirt slowly, jaw tense. He never stayed long. That was part of the deal he never spoke aloud.
They shared the night, but not the morning.
She pulled the blanket over her chest, watching him with eyes she wished weren't so full of feeling.
"I could leave," she said quietly. "You could have me dismissed. Fired. Sent far away."
He didn't answer.
Her voice cracked. "You say I'm nothing to you. But you keep coming back."
He paused at the door. "Because you make it easy."
The words hit like a slap. She blinked hard to stop the tears.
He didn't turn back. He opened the door, stepped out, and was gone.
Just like every night.
Morning — In the Dining Room
The mansion felt colder than usual.
Elena moved through her duties mechanically—setting the table, arranging the silverware, avoiding mirrors because she couldn't bear to look herself in the eye.
Camille Wolfe walked in moments later, stunning as ever in a white sheath dress and pearls. She took her seat with a graceful sigh, glancing at the folded newspaper beside her plate.
"Where's my husband?"
Elena didn't flinch. "Still in the east wing, ma'am. Mr. Wolfe asked not to be disturbed."
Camille gave her a long look. "Of course he did."
There was something different in her tone this morning—measured and cold. Her blue eyes narrowed slightly.
"Elena," she said suddenly, "do you find my husband attractive?"
The glass in Elena's hand almost slipped.
She looked up sharply. "Ma'am?"
"It's a simple question," Camille said, stirring her tea. "You're a woman. You have eyes. Do you think he's handsome?"
Elena hesitated. "I… I wouldn't know."
Camille's lips curled. "A smart answer. But lies, darling, are easy to spot. Especially in this house."
Her tea clinked gently as she set the spoon down.
"Men like Xavier are like fire," Camille said softly. "Beautiful to watch… but they always burn the thing they touch."
Elena didn't reply.
But her silence said enough.
Part 4 — The Game Beneath the Surface
The day dragged.
Elena dusted antiques, scrubbed marble floors, folded towels—anything to avoid being alone with her thoughts.
But no matter what she did, she couldn't forget the feel of his hands on her skin… or the icy words he left her with.
"You make it easy."
That sentence replayed over and over, slicing at whatever piece of her heart still believed this meant something.
By noon, Camille hadn't left the mansion. She stayed in her solarium with a single glass of wine and her thoughts—watching Elena more than usual. Her eyes followed the maid like a hawk watching prey.
Elena felt it. The burn of suspicion.
Even though Camille said nothing more, her gaze spoke volumes.
Evening
By dusk, the house settled into its usual hush. The other maids gathered in the kitchen, laughing over a shared loaf of sweet bread. Elena couldn't join them. Her chest felt too tight, her skin too raw.
She walked the long, quiet hall toward her room, heart thudding faster with each step.
She was almost there when she saw him.
Xavier stood at the end of the hallway, one hand in his pocket, staring at her like he'd been waiting all day.
She froze.
He didn't move.
Neither did she.
For a full minute, the air between them thickened with heat and hurt and things they refused to name.
Then, slowly, he turned and disappeared into the darkness of the west wing.
Her breath caught. He hadn't said a word.
But that silent glance was a command.
He wanted her.
Tonight.
Late Night: Her Room
Elena tried to resist. She really did.
But the knock came past midnight—soft and familiar. Her fingers trembled as she opened the door.
He stepped inside and didn't speak.
This time, he didn't touch her.
Not yet.
He just looked.
"Elena," he said quietly, "I told myself I'd stop."
"Then stop," she whispered.
"I can't."
And just like that, they crashed together—mouths, hands, skin.
This time, it wasn't just lust.
It was desperation.
Need.
Pain.
She kissed him like she hated him. He touched her like she was the only peace he had left.
When it was over, he stayed a moment longer than usual, brushing a damp curl from her cheek. His eyes, so often cruel, looked almost… soft.
"Xavier," she breathed, "do I mean anything to you?"
He didn't answer.
He never did.
But he pressed his lips to her forehead in the gentlest kiss she'd ever felt.
Then he left—without a word.
The Cliffhanger
Elena barely slept.
Her heart was a battlefield — guilt, pleasure, anger, and longing all at war.
By morning, her stomach was in knots.
She dressed in silence and headed toward the kitchen.
But as she passed the grand staircase, she saw something that made her blood run cold:
Camille.
Standing on the stairs.
Watching her.
A folded red silk necktie in her hand.
Xavier's.
Her eyes met Elena's — calm, cold, and deadly.
"Elena," she said sweetly, "join me in the drawing room. We need to talk."
End of Chapter One.