In love with our maid

CHAPTER NINE: UNSPOKEN FIRES

The scent of thyme still lingered faintly in the kitchen when Aria returned, her hands empty, her eyes a little too bright.

Martha glanced up from the sizzling pan of sausages. “That was quick. Everything alright?”

Aria nodded too quickly. “Yes. He said thank you.”

Martha arched a brow. “Did he eat?”

“I left it by his bed.” She forced a smile and reached for the stack of plates to set the breakfast table. “I should get ready to serve.”

But her heart wasn’t in it. The clinking of cutlery, the rhythm of pouring tea — it all felt too loud for the storm in her chest.

She could still hear him:

“I was drunk.”

“Let’s not overthink whatever happened.”

But she hadn’t been the one overthinking.

He had meant it last night. She’d seen it in his eyes.

Hadn’t she?

Upstairs, Ethan sat by the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.

He was a coward.

He could face boardrooms, investors, decisions that moved millions.

But he couldn’t face the soft eyes of a girl who didn’t ask for anything except the truth.

Because telling her the truth would change everything.

Because wanting her was dangerous.

She’s just a maid…

But she’s not.

Not to him.

Not anymore.

He glanced at the untouched tray on his nightstand, the sliced apples glistening with dew, the honey water catching the morning light like gold.

He picked up the glass.

And drank every drop.

By the time the Stanford family gathered for breakfast, the table was dressed in crystalware and the scent of baked croissants filled the air.

Mrs. Stanford sat at the head, dabbing delicately at her lips with a linen napkin. “Daniel’s still asleep?” she asked without looking up.

“Yes, ma’am,” replied one of the maids.

Ethan walked in, freshly dressed in a navy shirt, his jaw taut and expression unreadable.

“Good morning, Mother,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

She smiled briefly. “Rough night?”

He gave a shallow nod and took his seat.

Aria moved around the table with practiced ease, placing servings and refilling glasses. Her eyes didn’t stray — not even once.

But he watched her.

He tried not to.

He failed.

And Miss Lavine saw everything.

Standing stiff near the door with her arms folded, the seasoned chief maid eyed Aria sharply.

“Aria,” she said as the girl approached with a basket of bread.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You're serving with puffy eyes. Were you crying?”

Aria hesitated, caught in the middle of the dining room, all eyes flickering toward her.

“No, ma’am,” she murmured.

“You look it. We represent the family with grace. Fix yourself before you’re back in here.”

Mrs. Stanford glanced up only briefly, then returned to her tea.

Ethan stiffened. His hand curled into a fist beneath the table.

Aria nodded quickly, whispering, “Sorry, Miss Lavine,” before retreating with her tray. She didn’t wait to reach the hallway before the tears returned.

Outside the kitchen door, Martha was waiting, arms crossed.

“She talk to you like that again, I swear—” she began.

“It’s fine,” Aria said quickly. “It’s just… I should’ve kept my face together.”

Martha looked at her, long and hard. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”

“I’m fine.”

“You're not, but alright. Just don’t let Lavine get to you.”

“She’s just doing her job,” Aria whispered.

“She forgets she’s not madam sometimes,” Martha muttered, heading back to the stove.

Later that morning, Ethan stood at the hallway window overlooking the garden.

Below, Aria was sweeping fallen petals into a basket near the roses.

She moved slower than usual. Her shoulders were tense. Her face turned away from the sun.

She didn’t know he was watching.

And he hated that he’d made her feel small.

That he’d let someone else talk down to her while he said nothing.

He was going to fix that.

He had to.

Just not while everyone was watching.