Chapter 7 I should go

The sun was already dipping low behind the buildings when Dylan pulled into his driveway. The air was cooler now, the soft gold of twilight spilling over the city like a fading dream. It had been a long day-back-to-back meetings, an overzealous investor, and more calls from his father.

He was exhausted. But something had kept nagging at him since lunchtime, and it wasn't business.

It was Molly.

Her smile that morning. The way her eyes had lit up when she talked about her father's new job. The way she looked in that lavender blouse-far too beautiful for someone supposed to "blend into the background." And that damn scent she left behind in every room she cleaned. Light. Sweet. Feminine.

Dylan wasn't used to thinking about women like this anymore.

He entered the house, loosened his tie, and tossed his keys on the counter. The house was quiet, save for the low hum of the air conditioner. He checked his watch. Almost 7 p.m. Molly was probably in her room, maybe getting ready for bed.

He raked a hand through his hair and let out a deep sigh. He needed to tell her-his parents were arriving the next day, and everything had to be spotless. Including Molly's appearance and behavior.

Not because he was ashamed of her.

But because... well, his mother had a radar for women, and the last thing he needed was for her to sniff out the fact that he was starting to feel something for his housemaid.

Just tell her, then leave. Be professional.

He marched toward her room, not thinking, not knocking.

The door creaked open.

"Molly-"

And then everything stopped.

She was standing with her back to the door, completely naked. Her skin glowed like warm honey under the lamp, curves soft and smooth. She had one leg propped up on the chair, rubbing lotion slowly into her thigh, completely unaware that someone had entered. Her long hair cascaded down her back, brushing the top of her waist. The sight hit him like a punch to the gut.

"Arrrh! What are you doing here?!" she shrieked, whirling around, eyes wide with panic as she fumbled for her towel. She wrapped it around herself in a flash, cheeks blazing with color.

Dylan blinked rapidly, his brain struggling to reboot. "I-uh-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-" He turned sharply to face the door, heart hammering in his chest. "God, I should've knocked. But maybe you should learn to lock your door next time! If it had been locked, then I'd have been forced to knock, and this-this wouldn't have happened."

Molly clutched the towel to her chest, trembling with a mix of embarrassment and fury. "Oh, don't you dare blame this on me!" she shot back. "Boss or not, you should never barge into a woman's room! A normal human being would knock!"

Her voice was sharp, firm-angry-and it caught Dylan off guard.

He turned his head slightly, his profile barely visible. "Excuse me?"

"I said, you should've knocked!" she continued, stepping forward despite only being wrapped in a towel. "Do you think being rich gives you the right to walk into people's spaces like you own them? You scared the hell out of me!"

It was the first time she had ever raised her voice to him. And it sent a jolt of something hot and electric through his chest.

She looked breathtaking. Fierce and flustered. Her eyes flashed, lips parted, breath unsteady.

And that towel-small, fragile, hugging every curve.

His jaw clenched.

"You seem to have forgotten your place," he said coldly, turning around now, eyes hard. "What gives you the right to yell at me?"

The moment his eyes locked with hers, Molly's confidence wavered. She took a small step back, pulse racing.

"I'm sorry, sir," she whispered, gaze falling to her feet. "It won't happen again."

But it was too late. The moment had shifted. The air between them felt thick, too charged. The distance was too small. The silence, too loud.

Dylan took a slow step forward, and Molly's breath caught.

He didn't touch her. Didn't say anything for a few seconds.

Then he murmured, "Why are you apologizing?"

Molly looked up. "Because I yelled at you."

"No," he said quietly. "I mean, why are you always apologizing?"

She blinked, confused. "Because... that's what people like me have to do."

Dylan swallowed hard, staring at her. She stood before him, small and vulnerable, holding her towel like a shield. But there was a fire inside her now-one he hadn't seen before. He'd seen her hurt, scared, tired. But now?

She was alive.

"I didn't mean to see you like that," he muttered, stepping back slightly. "But... now that I have..."

Her breath hitched.

Their eyes locked.

She could see the heat in his gaze now. He wasn't hiding it. His control was unraveling, and it scared her... but it also thrilled her.

"I should go," he said, more to himself than to her.

But he didn't move.

Neither of them did.

Molly's fingers tightened around her towel. "You said you came to tell me something."

That snapped him back. "Right." He cleared his throat, looked away, then back. "My parents are visiting tomorrow. They'll be here by noon. I need you to make sure the house is perfect. Floors, guest rooms, the dining setup. Everything."

She nodded, trying to sound steady. "Yes... okay."

"And you'll need to look presentable," he added. "My mother's not exactly... open-minded. She'll ask questions."

"You mean I should try not to embarrass you," Molly said softly, almost bitterly.

Dylan flinched. "No. That's not what I meant."

She stared at him, eyes searching. "Then what did you mean?"

"I meant," he said slowly, "that I don't want them to see you the way I first did. "

Her heart skipped.

"Because you're not," he added, voice lower now. "You're more than that."

Silence again.

Heavy. Loaded.

"I'm sorry I walked in on you," he said. "Really."

Molly's fingers loosened around the towel. "And I'm sorry I yelled."

"No," he replied with a slight smile. "That part... you should do more often."

She blushed and looked away. "You're not as scary as you pretend to be, Dylan."

"And you're not as fragile as you act, Molly."

Another long pause.

He turned toward the door. "I'll let you rest. See you in the morning."

But as he reached the hallway, she called after him. "Dylan?"

He stopped.

"Thank you," she said.

He looked over his shoulder. "For what?"

"For everything."

This time, he didn't say anything. He just nodded, then left.

And when Molly closed her door and leaned against it, her chest heaved.

She had never felt so exposed.

So vulnerable.

And yet... something inside her had stirred.

Something she couldn't name.

Something dangerous.

And maybe, just maybe, Dylan felt it too.