The marble floors echoed beneath Amara's hurried footsteps as she walked briskly toward the west wing. Her heart beat faster than usual—not from fear, but something harder to admit: anticipation.
She hadn't seen Sebastian since that awkward moment in the hallway, where their hands had touched too long, eyes lingered too deeply, and unspoken tension simmered between them like the beginning of a storm.
But now, as she carried a tray of freshly pressed linens to the guest suites, her mind was filled with flashes of him—his cool gaze, the warmth in his voice when he wasn't trying to intimidate her, the softness she caught a glimpse of when he thought no one was watching.
"Don't be stupid, Amara," she muttered under her breath. "He's your boss. And a billionaire. You're just… the help."
Still, her stomach fluttered when she turned the corner and saw him standing near one of the arched windows, talking on his phone. He was dressed in a black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the late afternoon sun casting golden shadows on his sharp cheekbones.
He noticed her. Their eyes locked. He ended the call.
"Amara," he said, stepping forward. "Come here."
She froze. "Is there something you need, Mr. Blackwood?"
He frowned. "Must you always sound so formal?"
"I work for you," she replied, chin tilted. "Formality is expected."
"You live in my house. You care for my sister. You know me better than most of the guests that come through here pretending to be my friends. I'd like to think we're past formality."
Her lips parted slightly, but she had no words.
He stepped closer. "You avoided me after that night."
"I didn't—"
"You did," he cut in gently. "And it's okay. I was out of line. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"You didn't," she whispered, feeling like the walls were closing in. "It's just… complicated."
He studied her. "Why?"
"Because I have nothing, and you have everything."
Sebastian's jaw tensed. "That's not true."
"It is," she said, backing away slightly. "You don't know what it's like to be invisible. To be used. To clean up someone else's mess because it's the only job you can get. This mansion may be beautiful, but it's not mine. And neither is this life."
"You think this life makes me happy?" he asked, voice lower now, more vulnerable.
She blinked. "Doesn't it?"
He looked away, then out the window. "This marble mansion? These designer suits and luxury cars? They're armor. Distractions. I wake up every day haunted by the people I couldn't save."
"Your parents?"
"And others," he said quietly. "My father's reputation nearly destroyed this family. And now I spend every waking moment trying to repair what he broke. For Sophia. For myself. For the world. But no amount of wealth changes the way people look at you when they expect you to fall apart like he did."
Amara had never heard him speak like that. It stripped away everything—the power, the arrogance—and left a man she barely recognized.
"You're not your father," she said softly.
His eyes met hers. "And you're not just a maid."
Something fluttered in her chest.
Sebastian stepped forward again, slowly, carefully. "Tell me to back off, and I will. But I won't pretend I don't feel something when I'm around you."
Amara stared at him, heart thudding. "I… I don't know what to say."
"Then don't say anything," he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just don't disappear again."
She stood frozen as he walked past her, the scent of cedar and spice lingering long after he was gone.
The next day, Amara worked in the garden, pruning the rose bushes near the reflecting pool. She liked the quiet. It gave her a break from the opulence inside and helped her think.
But even among the roses, she couldn't escape the echo of Sebastian's voice.
Just don't disappear again.
He wanted something from her. Something real. But was it possible to give herself to a man like him? In a world like his?
She heard a crunch of gravel and turned to find Sophia walking toward her.
"There you are," the girl chirped, sitting beside her on the edge of the fountain.
Amara smiled. "Skipping tutoring again?"
Sophia shrugged. "It's boring. I'd rather talk to you."
"Flattering, but your brother won't be thrilled."
Sophia rolled her eyes. "Sebastian's always busy anyway. Except when he's looking for you."
Amara stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"I saw him pacing by your room last night."
She blushed. "He probably needed something."
"Like a reason to smile," Sophia said, smirking like a child far too observant for her age. "You're good for him, Amara. I can tell."
The words touched a place deep inside her, but she couldn't bring herself to admit what she felt.
"I'm just here to help," Amara said gently.
"Maybe," Sophia replied, "but I think you were meant to be more."
Later that evening, Amara entered the library to return a book and nearly bumped into Sebastian again. He looked up from the fireplace where he'd been reading.
"Are you following me now?" he teased, though his voice was laced with something softer.
"I—no. I didn't know you were here."
He stood, slowly closing the distance between them. "You've been avoiding me again."
"I've been working."
"That's not an answer."
Amara swallowed. "I don't want to get hurt."
He stopped, so close she could feel the heat of him. "Neither do I."
"You could have anyone," she whispered. "Why me?"
He smiled faintly. "Because you challenge me. Because you see through the surface. Because when I look at you, I forget about everything I've lost."
She stared at him, her resolve crumbling. "Sebastian…"
He leaned down, voice barely above a whisper. "Say my name like that again, and I won't be able to stop myself."
Her breath hitched. "Then don't."
That was all it took.
He kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It was urgent, months of tension unraveling in a single moment. His hands cupped her face, and she melted against him, all doubts slipping away under the weight of that undeniable pull.
They didn't talk much after that.
Words weren't needed when their bodies spoke in longing touches, stolen glances, and late-night meetings in the quiet corners of the mansion.
But it couldn't last forever.
One evening, Amara found an envelope on her bed.
Inside was a formal invitation: The Blackwood Foundation Annual Gala – Guest of Honor: Sebastian Blackwood.
At the bottom, in Sebastian's handwriting: Come with me.
Her heart raced.
It wasn't just an invitation to a party. It was an invitation into his world.
And that terrified her more than anything else.