Alexa sat with her legs crossed on the velvet armchair, sipping delicately from a porcelain cup as though she were born to be served. "Thank you, Archer!!" she had said brightly, flashing a smile toward her husband. But even as she spoke, her thoughts turned bitter. Why on earth did he have to hire someone so pretty? A personal maid should look plain, invisible. Ugly would have been fine. But this one—this Freya—slim, delicate, eyes too big, that small, innocent-looking face… she looks like a storybook heroine, not a servant.
Archer, oblivious to his wife's fuming, had simply nodded. "Take care of her," he said curtly to the maid.
Freya bowed her head with practiced grace. "Yes, sir," she replied softly, her voice as sweet as her appearance. When she lifted her face, she smiled politely, and the faint dimple on her left cheek showed.
