Lily Harper gripped her employment letter, its edges worn from her anxious fingers, as she faced the Blackwood estate's iron gates. This maid job was her last chance to keep her brother Noah in school, to secure his future. At twenty-five, she knew men like Ethan Blackwood, tech billionaire, didn't notice girls like her. But the $4,000 monthly pay could save them.
The gate buzzed open, and Lily hurried inside, met by Mrs. Grayson, the head housekeeper, whose stern eyes sized her up. "You're late," she snapped, thrusting gray uniforms and a white apron into Lily's arms. She led her through the mansion's gleaming corridors—marble floors, chandeliers, wealth in every detail. "Kitchen, library, dining hall," Mrs.Grayson barked. "Mr. Blackwood expects perfection." She pointed vaguely down a hallway. "Change in there. Kitchen in ten minutes."
Lily nodded, pulse racing. Noah's scholarship exam was weeks away, she couldn't fail him.
The hallway had too many doors. Mrs.Grayson's gesture seemed to point right.
Choosing one, she stepped into a dim room smelling of leather and sweat. Lockers and mirrors lined the walls—a changing room. It'd do. She dropped the uniforms on a bench, peeling off her sweater and jeans. In her plain bra and panties, her curves stood out, full breasts straining the cotton, hips flaring softly.
Her pale skin, smooth except for a faint thigh scar, caught the fluorescent light. Her chestnut hair, loose from its bun, framed hazel eyes that looked too vulnerable in the mirror.
The door swung open. Lily froze, hands grabbing for her uniform.
Ethan Blackwood stepped in, a towel around his neck, black hair damp with sweat. His gray eyes, sharp and piercing, locked onto her. At thirty-two, he was a billionaire god, chiseled jaw, stubbled, all raw power. His black tank clung to a sculpted chest, sweat tracing hard abs down to fitted shorts that hugged powerful thighs. His arms, corded with muscle, flexed as he adjusted the towel. He was danger incarnate, and Lily's breath caught.
His gaze raked over her, lingering on her chest, her hips, her bare legs. She saw it, the bulge in his shorts, unmistakable, instant. Her cheeks burned, but his eyes held hers, dark with something feral. Heat coiled in her belly, reckless and wrong. She was half-naked in front of a man who could destroy her, yet his stare made her feel alive.
"Get out," she choked, clutching the uniform to her chest. Her voice wavered, but she straightened, defiant. Ethan's lips twitched, almost a smirk, as if her fire intrigued him.
"You're in my gym," he said, voice low, smooth as velvet. He stepped closer, the towel dangling. "Who are you?"
"Lily. New maid." She yanked the gray dress on, fingers clumsy with buttons. The fabric hid her curves, but his eyes still burned. "This was a mistake."
"Was it?" He was too close, his cedar-and-sweat scent dizzying. She felt the heat radiating off him, a dangerous pull.
"Sorry," she snapped, shoving past. Her shoulder grazed his arm, sparking a jolt. She didn't look back, fleeing to the hallway, his gaze a weight on her skin.
Leaning against the wall, Lily fought to steady her breath. Ethan wasn't just cold, he was a storm, and she'd walked into it. Noah needed her to keep this job, not tangle with a billionaire. She pushed the thought down, hurrying to the kitchen.
Mrs. Grayson barked orders as Lily scrubbed counters, her mind stuck on Ethan's eyes.
Other maids gossiped, he was ruthless, trapped by an heiress girlfriend, Claire Donovan, picked by his mother. "Poor guy," one maid snickered. Lily focused on work.
She'd survive this, for Noah.
That afternoon, polishing silver in the dining hall, a sharp voice cut through. "You. Maid." A blonde in a designer dress stood there, green eyes venomous. Claire Donovan, dripping in diamonds. "Spill on my shoes, you're done," she said, tossing her purse down. "Ethan's mother wants this place perfect for the gala.
Don't ruin it."
Lily nodded, jaw tight. Claire's smile was cruel.
"You're new," she said, stepping closer. "Stay away from Ethan. He doesn't touch the help." Her words were a blade, and Lily's stomach twisted. Did Claire know about the changing room? No way.
As Claire strutted off, Lily's hands shook, but she kept polishing. She was here for Noah, not drama. Yet Ethan's stare haunted her, a forbidden thrill she couldn't shake. Later, Mrs.
Grayson sent her to the study with fresh linens.
The study was dark, mahogany and leather, city lights glinting through huge windows.
Setting the linens down, Lily's eyes caught a photograph half-hidden under a book on the desk. A young Ethan stood beside a woman with chestnut hair and hazel eyes, eerily like Lily's late mother. Her heart raced. It couldn't be.
She reached for the photo, fingers trembling.
The door creaked. Ethan stood there, his face a mask of steel.
"What are you doing?" he demanded, voice slicing the air.
Lily's hand hovered, the photo inches away. His eyes flicked to it, a flash of something-fear? crossing them. "I was just…linens," she
Stammered, stepping back.
His jaw tightened, but before he could speak, a crash echoed from the hall. Claire's voice shrieked, "Ethan! Who the hell is she?"
Lily's blood ran cold. The photo, Ethan's fury, Claire's rage, someone saw them in the changing room. Her job, Noah's future, everything teetered on the edge.