Part 1 — The Drawing Room Trap
The drawing room was too quiet.
Elena sat across from Camille Wolfe, hands clasped in her lap, heart pounding so loud it drowned out the ticking clock on the wall.
Camille's perfectly painted lips curved in a smile, but her eyes held no warmth. Only calculation.
"Relax," she said smoothly, swirling her wine. "You're not in trouble."
Elena said nothing.
"I just wanted to… talk." Camille leaned forward, holding up the red silk tie between two fingers. "This was on the floor near the west hallway last night. You wouldn't happen to know how it got there, would you?"
Elena's mouth went dry.
She forced herself to look confused. "No, ma'am. I—I cleaned that wing yesterday morning, but I didn't see it."
"Hmm." Camille tilted her head. "It's Xavier's favorite. I gave it to him on our second anniversary. Strange how it ended up on the floor."
Elena swallowed. Hard.
Camille's voice dropped lower, silk over steel.
"You've been very efficient since you started here. Quiet. Obedient. Smart. But I hope you're not getting too… comfortable. Some boundaries aren't meant to be crossed."
Every word was a blade, slicing Elena's chest open inch by inch.
She lowered her eyes. "Understood, ma'am."
Camille leaned back, clearly pleased.
"Good. You're dismissed."
Elena stood up, her knees wobbling, and turned to leave.
"And Elena?" Camille's voice followed her. "I'd be very careful if I were you. Not everyone in this house is blind."
Part 2 — The Bitter and the Burn
Elena barely made it back to her room before the tears started.
She didn't sob — just let the hot, silent drops fall down her face. She was humiliated, terrified, confused. Xavier had warned her not to feel anything. He had told her not to hope.
She hadn't listened.
Stupid, stupid girl.
And yet… she still wanted him.
Even now.
The shame of that made her chest ache more than Camille's words.
There was a knock on her door.
Her breath caught.
She waited — hoping and dreading.
But it wasn't him.
It was Nora, another maid.
"Elena," she said with a frown. "Mrs. Wolfe wants the sheets in the west wing changed. Now."
Elena's blood turned cold.
It was a message. A threat.
Camille was marking her territory in the cruelest way possible.
Part 3 — Xavier's Cold Flame
Later that night, Xavier returned home late. Elena saw him only from a distance, standing by the main staircase, tossing his coat at one of the butlers.
He looked… different.
Harder. Sharper.
Like he was preparing for war.
She turned away before he saw her, but his voice rang out.
"Elena. Come here."
She froze.
Heart pounding, she stepped closer.
Xavier looked at her like she was a puzzle he was getting tired of solving.
"What did she say to you?"
Elena blinked. "Who?"
"Camille. Don't play dumb."
Elena hesitated. "She suspects something."
He didn't react. Just shoved a hand through his dark hair.
"Of course she does. She always does."
"Maybe we should stop," Elena whispered.
Xavier looked at her then, eyes burning.
"You want to stop?"
She couldn't lie. "No."
He stepped closer, crowding her space.
"Then we don't stop. Not until I say so."
He left her standing there — dizzy, terrified, and wanting him more than ever.
Part 4 — Forbidden After Midnight
Xavier didn't plan to call her again that night.
He had already risked too much. Camille's eyes had been sharp lately. Watching. Guessing. Hunting.
But the memory of Elena's lips, trembling as she said "Maybe we should stop," refused to leave his mind.
He didn't want her voice.
He wanted her mouth.
At 1:27 a.m., he unlocked the back hallway that led to the maid quarters and slipped inside, silent as a shadow.
He didn't knock.
Elena gasped as the door creaked open, her nightgown thin and clinging. She stood by the window, brushing her hair, bathed in moonlight.
"Xavier—"
"Shhh." He stepped in and closed the door behind him.
His hand wrapped around her waist as he pulled her against him. She didn't resist. Her breath hitched, but her hands rose to rest on his chest.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
"Then why is your heart racing?" he murmured into her neck.
He kissed the side of her throat — once, slowly — and felt her knees buckle slightly.
"Because I'm scared," she breathed.
"No," he said, voice dark. "Because you're mine. And you hate that you love it."
She didn't answer. Her lips found his. Soft at first. Then hungry.
He backed her toward the wall. One hand tangled in her hair, the other lifting her thigh to his hip.
He kissed her like he was starving — rough and aching — as if trying to erase the guilt and the consequences.
She moaned into his mouth, fingers gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, begging without words.
"Tell me to stop," he growled.
She didn't.
He lifted her, pressing her back to the wall, letting her wrap her legs around him. Their bodies fit like puzzle pieces meant to be hidden.
They didn't speak again — only gasps, kisses, heat, and secrets.
Part 5 — Eavesdropper in the Hall
Unbeknownst to them, just outside the maid's hallway, someone stood in the shadows.
Bare feet. Thin robe. Cold eyes.
Camille Wolfe.
She hadn't expected confirmation — not really. She had followed the faint sound of footsteps out of insomnia and suspicion.
But now she stood frozen, trembling with rage, as muffled gasps and soft cries drifted through the thin walls.
She didn't cry.
She didn't scream.
She simply walked back toward her room, each step more controlled than the last.
She was a woman scorned — but also a woman planning.
And Camille Wolfe never forgave betrayal.
Part 6 — The Morning After Sin
The next morning, Elena woke with sunlight in her eyes and a strange chill along her spine.
She reached for the edge of her blanket—
Only to freeze.
A white envelope lay on her pillow.
There was no name. No handwriting. Just her bed, her scent… and the scent of Camille's perfume.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
Inside, a single note:
"Sluts don't last long in this house."
Elena's breath hitched. Her stomach twisted. She stood and backed away from the bed, her nightgown clinging to her legs with fear sweat.
Her hands clutched the paper like a lifeline, eyes darting around the room.
How did she know? Did she see us?
Or… is this just a warning shot?
She looked toward the camera near the corner—dead. Fake. Installed by Xavier. Meant to give them privacy.
Too private, maybe.
Part 7 — Camille's Game Begins
Camille sat in the dining room, sipping tea like a queen.
Her silk robe shimmered as she flipped through a magazine without really reading.
When Elena entered to clean, their eyes met—and lingered.
"Elena," Camille said smoothly, her voice sugar-coated. "You look… tired. Everything alright?"
Elena's throat dried. "Yes, ma'am. Just didn't sleep well."
"Hmm." Camille smiled over her teacup. "Perhaps the floor is getting too cold. Maybe someone should be keeping your bed warmer."
Elena froze. Her heart dropped to her knees.
But Camille only smiled, turning a page with elegance. "Men are so predictable when they're bored."
Elena turned away, her hands shaking as she dusted the corner shelf.
Camille's voice was a whisper behind her, soft and venomous:
"Don't get too comfortable, dear. Mistresses don't inherit mansions. Wives do."
Part 8 — Xavier's Denial
Later that night, Elena confronted Xavier in his study.
He looked at the note, read it, then tore it in two without blinking.
"She's bluffing," he said coldly. "She always plays games. Ignore her."
"But what if she—"
"I said, ignore her."
Elena stepped back, lips trembling. "I'm scared, Xavier. I'm not like you. I don't have power. If she tells the board, or your father—"
"I'll handle it."
He stood, pulling her into him roughly. "I'm not done with you, Elena. And you're not going anywhere."
She didn't know if it was a promise… or a threat.