Chapter 1: The Upbeat Pop Music Stopped
The morning sun filtered through the tall, arched windows of the grand parlor, casting long, warm shafts of light across the polished hardwood floors and catching the dust motes dancing in the air. Soft natural light warmed the rich mahogany of the grand piano in the corner and glinted off the crystal pendants of the chandelier overhead. Upbeat pop music pulsed softly from my small Bluetooth speaker resting on the lower shelf of my stainless steel cleaning cart. Beside it sat a cluster of spray bottles, clean microfiber cloths, and my trusty white feather duster.
I spun lightly on the heel of my burgundy maid uniform, the crisp white apron and cap fluttering around me as I caught the rhythm of the track. I brought the white feather duster up to my lips like a vintage microphone, letting myself get lost for just a second in the empty, elegant room.
"This is the way I signed..." I sang out softly into the bristles, my voice echoing slightly against the marble fireplace and the imposing white marble statue standing near the far wall.
Then, the beat cut out mid-measure. The sudden silence in the room was absolute, pressing against my eardrums.
My feet stopped spinning instantly. My breath hitched in my throat, and my eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock as I snapped my head toward the double doors. Standing in the entranceway was a tall man in a tailored black suit. His dark wavy hair caught the morning light, and the faint shadow of light stubble lined his jaw, emphasizing a jawline that looked carved from granite. He wasn't just observing me; he was studying me with an intensity that made my stomach drop.
Panic, quick and sharp, flared behind my ribs. My fingers scrambled blindly on the metal cart until they frantically snatched a green glass bottle of window cleaner, bringing it around to my front while I shoved the incriminating feather duster awkwardly behind my back.
The man shifted his weight, his dark eyes tracking my every frantic movement without a shred of pity. He didn't look angry yet, but he didn't look amused either. He just stood there, grounded and solid against the threshold of his domain.
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs as I forced my shoulders down and turned around to face him fully, my chest rising and falling with a breathless, shaky expression.
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze dropping to the green bottle in my grip before rising back to meet my wide eyes. A slow, deliberate pause stretched between us before he spoke, his voice low, resonant, and entirely unreadable.
"Hi."
The single syllable hung in the quiet parlor, carrying an invisible weight that made the air feel suddenly thin. Before I could scrape together a coherent defense or invent a plausible excuse for my impromptu concert, he stepped further across the threshold, closing the distance between us with measured, unhurried strides.
May you like
He stopped just a few feet away, looking down at me with that intense, unreadable expression while I gazed up nervously, clutching the glass bottle like a shield.
"Was there an audience I wasn't informed about?" he asked.
