maid for young master

--- Chapter 1: The Arrival & the Warning Molly Gardener stood frozen before the towering iron gates of the Hawthorne Estate. Wind tangled her dark hair as raindrops slid down her cheeks, soaking into the collar of her worn cardigan. Her entire life was stuffed into one cheap suitcase, her curves bundled beneath second-hand fabric that clung to her from the storm. Her stepmother's cruel voice echoed in her mind: “You’re useless, but at least you'll clean rich toilets now. Maybe someone will pity you enough to keep you.” Her hands trembled as she pressed the brass intercom button. A crackle. Then a smooth, masculine voice with the slightest rasp. “Name?” “M-Molly Gardener. Reporting for domestic staff.” A pause. Then a cold click as the gates creaked open, groaning like they hadn’t been moved in decades. Molly swallowed her pride and stepped through. The mansion loomed ahead like something torn from a gothic dream—gray-stoned, vine-wrapped, and cruelly beautiful. Statues lined the path like watchful sentinels. The windows watched too. She felt it. A butler awaited her at the front steps, expression unreadable. “You’re late. Follow me.” Inside, the halls stretched like a labyrinth of polished marble and ancestral portraits. Even the air smelled expensive—like lavender, old books, and secrets. “You will meet Lady Beatrice first,” the butler said. “Speak only when spoken to.” Molly clutched her bag tighter. Lady Beatrice sat in a high-backed velvet chair, her silver hair pulled into a tight knot. Her lips were painted blood red, her eyes like frost. “So. You’re the stray.” “I’m Molly, ma’am.” “You have no training, no pedigree, and nothing particularly pleasing about you,” she said, standing. “But apparently your stepmother insisted. So here you are.” “I… I’m willing to work hard.” Lady Beatrice circled her like she was inspecting a horse for auction. “You'll scrub, serve, stay invisible. The West Wing is forbidden. That includes the upper floors.” Molly nodded silently. “And above all,” Lady Beatrice leaned in, voice cold and sharp, “stay away from the young master.” Molly blinked. “The young master?” “Dominic Hawthorne. Eighteen. Dangerous. Entitled. He doesn’t need distractions. Especially not soft-faced girls from the gutter with wide eyes and too much body for their own good.” Molly flushed. “I’m not here to distract anyone.” “Good. Keep it that way.” Later, after being assigned her narrow attic room and a long list of chores, Molly began cleaning the East Wing. The mansion was vast, every corridor darker than the last. She’d gotten so lost she was starting to wonder if she’d ever find her way out. That’s when she heard it. A low, teasing voice. “Well, well. What do we have here?” She jumped. Her eyes landed on a tall figure leaning against a doorway in the shadows. Loose black shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Black joggers slung low on his hips. Barefoot, tousled hair, and a devilish smirk that didn’t belong on anyone under twenty. Dominic Hawthorne. He stepped into the light, and her stomach fluttered without permission. Gray eyes, sharp jawline, and a body that screamed danger. His eyes trailed down her—slow, bold, possessive. “You’re not one of the old crones,” he said, voice deep and amused. “And I definitely would’ve remembered you.” Molly squared her shoulders. “I was told not to talk to you.” He chuckled, c*****g his head. “Ah. Grandma’s favorite rule.” She turned to leave, but he moved, blocking her path effortlessly. “Relax. I don’t bite. Not unless you beg.” Her cheeks burned. “Excuse me?” He leaned in. His scent was maddening—dark spice and something uniquely male. His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “I said... I don’t bite—unless you want me to.” Molly stepped back quickly, heart racing. “You’re disgusting.” “Bold for a maid,” he said, eyes glittering with amusement. “But I like fire. Tell me—what’s your name?” “None of your business.” “Ooh.” He smirked, licking his bottom lip slowly. “You’re going to be fun.” She tried to shove past him, but he caught her wrist—not rough, just enough to stop her. “You’re new. And I like new.” She yanked free. “Well, I don’t like spoiled brats who think the world spins for them.” His grin grew. “You think I’m spoiled?” “I think you’ve never heard the word ‘no’ in your life.” His voice dropped lower. “And you look like a girl who says ‘no’ but begs inside.” Slap. The sound cracked through the hallway. Molly’s palm stung, and Dominic’s head turned slightly from the force. His cheek turned pink. He slowly turned back to face her, tongue running over the corner of his mouth, like he was tasting the challenge. The silence between them pulsed. “Now that,” he whispered, “was the hottest thing I’ve experienced all week.” “You’re disgusting,” Molly hissed. “And you, maid,” he said, voice rich with delight, “are officially my new obsession.” She turned and fled, her heart hammering. Every step echoed down the hallway like a warning. --- Back in her attic room, she leaned against the closed door, gasping. Her hand still trembled from slapping him. Her skin still tingled from where he touched her. She had broken the number one rule. Stay away from the young master. But it wasn’t just him. There was something in his eyes when she resisted. Like she’d awakened a beast that had been bored too long. She didn’t know it yet, but Dominic Hawthorne had tasted rebellion—and he was hungry for more. ---