Chapter 1

he iron gates, wrought into intricate, intimidating patterns, swung open with a silent, hydraulic hiss. Jennifer clutched the handle of her single, worn suitcase, her knuckles white. The mansion wasn’t a home; it was a monument. Glass, steel, and pale stone soared against the skyline, a testament to a wealth so vast it felt like a different atmosphere. She’d answered an ad for a live-in domestic position, “room, board, and exceptional compensation for the open-minded.” At eighteen, with her college fund evaporated and her parents’ disappointed silence echoing in her ears, “exceptional compensation” was the only phrase that mattered.

A man in a crisp black suit met her at the towering front door. He didn’t speak, merely nodded and gestured for her to follow. The interior was cool, quiet, and smelled of lemon polish and money. Her sneakers squeaked on the marble floor, the sound obscenely loud in the cavernous foyer. They passed a living area where a painting that looked suspiciously like a Monet hung, and descended a wide, carpeted staircase to a lower level.

The sterile opulence above gave way to something warmer, busier. A hallway lined with closed doors, the hum of industrial appliances, the faint, savory scent of food from a kitchen somewhere. The man in the suit stopped before a polished oak door, knocked once, and opened it.

“Miss Elise? The new arrival.”

The office was neat, efficient, and dominated by a severe-looking desk. Behind it stood a woman who made Jennifer’s breath catch. She was maybe twenty-five, with a cascade of raven-black hair tied in a severe yet elegant knot. Her features were sharp, beautiful, and currently unreadable. But it was her body, even beneath the modest cut of her own black dress, that commanded attention. The fabric strained ever so slightly across a bust that was undeniably, impressively full. DD-cup, at least, Jennifer thought, a strange, competitive flutter in her stomach. She suddenly felt very young, very flat, and very underdressed in her jeans and hoodie.

“Jennifer,” the woman said, her voice a smooth, low alto. It wasn’t a question. “I am Elise, the head of household staff. Mr. Thorne’s instructions were to expect you.” Her dark eyes swept over Jennifer, assessing, cataloging. “You are younger than your application photo suggested.”

“I’m eighteen,” Jennifer said quickly, the words tumbling out. “I have my ID. I’m a hard worker. I learn fast.”

A ghost of a smile touched Elise’s lips. It didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure you do. Mr. Thorne has a particular ... eye for potential. Come. We’ll get you settled and uniformed.”

Elise moved past her, a whisper of perfume—something dark and floral—trailing in her wake. Jennifer hurried after her, suitcase bumping against her leg. They went deeper into the servants’ quarters, passing a common room where two other young women, both in identical, shockingly short black maid dresses, were curled on a sofa, whispering. They fell silent as Elise passed, their eyes flicking to Jennifer with a mixture of curiosity and something else ... pity? Amusement? Jennifer couldn’t tell.

Elise stopped at the last door in the hall. She produced a key, unlocked it, and ushered Jennifer inside. It was a small, but not unpleasant, room. A single bed, a dresser, a tiny ensuite bathroom. A window looked out at a well-kept garden wall.

“This is yours. You will keep it immaculate. Inspections are random.” Elise stated, moving to the narrow wardrobe and opening it. Inside, on a padded hanger, was a maid’s uniform.

Jennifer’s stomach dropped.

It was black, yes. It had a white apron, yes. But the similarities to any uniform she’d ever seen ended there. The dress itself was made of a sleek, satiny material, cut so short that the hem would barely graze mid-thigh. The neckline was a deep, square-cut plunge. The back, as Elise lifted it slightly, was mostly absent, held together by a criss-cross of thin black ribbons. The apron was sheer lace.