HIS MAID OF HONOR

Maya slipped quietly through the grand hall of the Ashbourne Estate, her soft-soled shoes barely making a sound against the marble floor. Sunlight streamed through the towering windows, catching the flecks of gold in the ornate chandelier and casting diamonds across the spotless floor she had polished that very morning. The scent of lavender polish still lingered faintly in the air-her signature touch.

She carried a silver tray balanced perfectly in one hand, her posture straight, movements precise. A pot of Darjeeling tea, two porcelain cups, and a folded linen napkin rested on the tray. She'd learned to make even the smallest details elegant. That was what working for the Ashbournes required-perfection, discretion, and invisibility.

Maya wasn't born into this world of silk curtains and classical music echoing down staircases. She had grown up in a modest home just an hour outside the city, raised by a single mother who cleaned offices at night and cooked breakfast every morning like it was her sacred duty. After her mother's passing, Maya had found work where she could-first as a house cleaner, then a hotel maid. Eventually, her polished work ethic caught the attention of the Ashbourne estate manager, and that's how she ended up here: in one of the city's wealthiest homes, working for a man she had never even met,

Until today.

Because today, he was coming home.

Alexander Ashbourne-the elusive, powerful billionaire who owned half of Manhattan's skyline and reportedly broke just as many hearts as he did business deals. He hadn't set foot in the estate in over two years. Everything Maya knew about him came from overheard whispers and tabloid headlines: cold, brilliant, impossibly handsome. The kind of man who could level a room with a single glance.

She wasn't sure why her heart was beating faster. It wasn't like she was going to meet him. Just...clean around him. That's what she did. She kept to the background, made beds, polished crystal, arranged flowers. People like Alexander Ashbourne didn't notice maids.

Maya turned the corner into the morning lounge and set the tray down carefully on the antique table near the window. She adjusted the napkin, then realigned the cups. There. Perfect.

A flicker of movement in the mirror above the fireplace caught her eye.

A man-tall, dressed in charcoal gray-stood just outside the archway, partially in shadow. Her breath caught before she turned.

His presence filled the room instantly. The air shifted. He stepped forward with slow, confident ease, his eyes scanning the space like he owned it. Because, of course, he did.

Alexander Ashbourne, She knew it was him before he spoke.

"You're new," he said, his voice low and smooth, with just a hint of amusement.

Maya swallowed. "Yes, sir. Maya."

He walked toward her, not smiling, but not unkind either. His features were sharper in person-strong jawline, piercing gray eyes, neatly combed dark hair. He looked like he'd stepped out of a fashion magazine and into a dream.

"Do you always arrange tea like it's an art installation?" he asked, nodding toward the tray.

Maya hesitated. "Only when the guest deserves it, sir."

The corner of his mouth curved-just barely. But it was something. A spark. A twitch of interest that made her chest feel suddenly too tight.

"I see." He reached for the teapot, and their hands brushed-his fingers warm against her cooler ones.

A jolt passed through her like static electricity. She pulled back instinctively, her cheeks flushing.

Alexander paused, eyes narrowing slightly as if he'd felt it too. But then he poured the tea with one hand, cool and composed, as if nothing had happened.

Maya took a step back, her hands folded neatly in front of her apron. She hated the way her pulse jumped under his gaze, how his very presence made her knees feel weak.

"Anything else, sir?" she asked, her voice steady despite the storm building inside her.

He studied her for a moment longer. "No. That'll be all."

She nodded and turned to leave, her back straight. But just as she reached the door, his voice stopped her.

"Maya."

She turned.

"You've been here how long?"

"Almost four months, sir."

"And in four months, no one mentioned that I hate Darjeeling?"

Her mouth parted slightly, mortified. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"I'm joking," he said, the ghost of a smile returning. "I hate most things, but not tea. Don't worry."

Maya let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Thank you, sir."

She stepped out of the room and down the hall before her composure cracked. She leaned against the wall for a second, her heart pounding like she'd just run a marathon.

Get it together, Maya, she scolded herself. He's just a man. A billionaire man who could have you fired with a glance, sure-but still, just a man.

But that wasn't what made her so unsteady,

It was the look in his eyes. The moment their hands touched. Something passed between them, fleeting and real. She'd never felt that with anyone before.

She shook her head. Don't be ridiculous. Men like Alexander Ashbourne didn't look twice at maids.

She returned to her quarters at the far end of the estate-small but spotless, with a single window that looked out over the side gardens. She opened her journal and jotted down a line:

"He looked at me today. Really looked."

Then she crossed it out.

That night, as she was changing the linens in the guest room, she overheard voices drifting from the corridor just outside.

"...she's still here?" one voice snapped. A woman.

"I told you, Victoria," came another voice, low and male. "She's part of the staff."

Victoria.

That name struck her like a slap. Victoria Kensington. Alexander's ex-fiancée. The one who had vanished without a trace, and now-apparently-was back.

"...you need to get rid of her. Before it becomes a problem," Victoria said, her tone sharp.

And then the door creaked, footsteps approaching, and Maya froze in place-heart hammering.

She wasn't supposed to hear that. And now, she wasn't sure she was safe.