Chapter 2 The boss's demand

Maya couldn't sleep.

She lay in the narrow bed tucked into the servant's wing of the Ashbourne Estate, her eyes fixed on the faint pattern of moonlight filtering through the window. Victoria's voice echoed in her mind-sharp, entitled, dangerous.

"You need to get rid of her. Before it becomes a problem."

Who was "her"? Maya had her suspicions, and if she was right... that meant trouble. Trouble she couldn't afford.

She curled tighter under the quilt. Maybe she could convince herself she'd misheard, that the tension in Victoria's voice had nothing to do with her. But even as she tried to rationalize, her stomach knotted with unease.

Still, morning came as it always did-mercilessly bright and demanding. Maya dressed in her crisp uniform, tying the apron around her waist with mechanical precision. Her routine had always been her armor, the rhythm that kept her steady.

But today, everything felt different. The house seemed louder. Busier. Staff whispered more than usual. Because today, he was staying in.

Alexander Ashbourne, the man who had stirred something in her with a single look and a fleeting touch, wasn't rushing back to his Manhattan office. He was working from home.

Which meant Maya would be seeing more of him.

She was dusting the bookshelves in the drawing room when the butler, Mr. Greene, approached her with a clipboard and a familiar furrow in his brow.

"Miss Bennett," he said, his voice clipped. "Mr. Ashbourne has requested you personally to assist in organizing the west wing study."

Maya blinked. "Me?"

He nodded. "Apparently, he was impressed with your 'attention to detail.'"

Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment she couldn't tell if it was pride or panic that warmed her. "I'll head there now."

The west wing was quieter than the rest of the estate-long hallways filled with family portraits and antique vases. When Maya reached the double doors of the study, her heart was already pounding. She knocked softly.

"Come in."

His voice was unmistakable-deep, even, controlled.

She stepped inside and was instantly swallowed by the scent of leather and cedar. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, a mahogany desk sat at the far end beneath a sunlit window, and behind it sat Alexander, sleeves rolled to his elbows, fingers steepled as he studied her approach.

"You wanted me, sir?"

His eyes lifted to meet hers. "Maya. Yes. I need your help with a few things."

He gestured toward the shelves beside the fireplace. "These files need to be categorized, sorted alphabetically, and cross-checked with the digital archive. I know it's not exactly housekeeping, but I was told you're sharp. Are you up for it?"

She nodded quickly, stepping forward. "Of course, sir."

"Good."

She moved to the shelves, silently pulling folders and organizing them into neat piles. The room was quiet, save for the scratching of his pen and the rustle of papers. But there was something electric in the silence.

At one point, she reached for a folder on the second-highest shelf and, balancing on her toes, lost her grip.

It slipped. She gasped.

Before it hit the floor, a strong hand caught it-his hand.

Maya turned, startled to find Alexander just inches behind her.

Their eyes locked. Her breath caught.

"You really do try to do everything yourself," he murmured, his tone lower now, less formal.

"I didn't mean to bother you, sir," she said softly, suddenly very aware of how close they stood.

"You're not bothering me," he said. "Not yet."

There was a small, teasing lift at the edge of his mouth-just enough to set her heart fluttering.

He handed her the folder, his fingers brushing hers. She could feel the warmth of his skin, and for a moment, she imagined what it would be like if he weren't her boss. If they weren't divided by money, power, and the rules of this world.

She stepped back, gently clearing her throat. "I'll be more careful."

He watched her for a beat longer than necessary. "Tell me something, Maya. Do you like working here?"

Her brows lifted in surprise. "I... yes. I do. Very much."

"Even with the ghosts?"

Her pulse jumped. "Ghosts, sir?"

He turned back to his desk, casually flipping a page. "This house has a way of remembering things. People. Mistakes."

She didn't know what to say to that, but something in his voice-some barely veiled pain-made her chest ache.

Alexander looked up again, his expression unreadable. "If you ever feel like you're in over your head, come to me directly. Not the housekeeper. Not the staff. Me."

It was such an unexpected offer-so personal, so unguarded-that for a moment, she couldn't respond.

"Yes, sir," she finally managed. "Thank you."

Their eyes lingered again.

Then he turned back to his work, and the moment was gone.

Later that afternoon, as Maya stepped out into the garden to catch her breath, she felt... different. Not just because of what he said, or the way he looked at her.

But because-for the first time since coming to this house-she felt seen.

He noticed her. Not just as a maid. But as Maya.

And she knew that was dangerous.

Hope was a luxury she couldn't afford. But in that quiet study, with his hand brushing hers and his voice softening just enough to let her in, a seed had been planted.

And hope... was already beginning to bloom.

She walked back into the estate, heart fluttering, unaware that from a second-story window, Victoria watched her with narrowed eyes-lips curled in a smirk.

"She's already too close," Victoria whispered into her phone.

On the other end, Rachel's voice crackled. "Then it's time we remind him who he really belongs to."