Bound to the Billionaire: A Love that Cannot Be

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I’m delusional.”

That was the first thought that anchored Miranda as she stood polishing the silver tray in the corridor outside the west hall.

Why would I think he noticed me?

The idea alone felt absurd. Jayden Negasi did not notice maids. Men like him didn’t look twice at women whose uniforms blended into the walls. What she had felt—what she had imagined—was nothing more than nerves, exhaustion, and a mind far too willing to romanticize a passing glance.

She exhaled slowly and forced her focus back to her task.

Yet the memory lingered anyway. The way the air had shifted. The weight of his gaze, brief but unmistakable. The stillness that had followed.

No, she told herself firmly. Delusion.

When Mrs. Reese dismissed her from the corridor assignment, Miranda didn’t hesitate. She welcomed the excuse to step away from the east wing and its charged atmosphere. Her feet carried her instinctively toward the kitchen, the familiar hum of work grounding her far more than polished hallways ever could.

The kitchen was alive with voices. Several maids clustered near the long prep table, hands busy, mouths busier. The moment Miranda stepped inside, conversation dipped then resumed with renewed enthusiasm.

“Oh, please,” one voice said breathlessly. “If you thought Mr. Jayden was handsome before, you should see him now.”

Miranda reached for a stack of clean plates, keeping her expression neutral.

“He’s broader,” another added. “More refined. Like power suits him.”

A sharp laugh followed. “And those eyes? I swear they look darker.”

Miranda glanced up briefly and met Claudia’s stare.

Claudia was older than most of them, her posture stiff, lips always pressed as though perpetually displeased. She didn’t hide her disdain now. Her eyes swept over Miranda slowly, critically, before she turned back to the group with a smirk.

“I hear Mrs. Reese will be reallocating staff soon,” Claudia said. “Especially for the south wing.”

Excitement rippled through the room.

“The south wing?” someone echoed. “That’s his.”

“Exactly,” Claudia said smugly. “And only the most trusted will be chosen.”

Miranda stacked the plates carefully, her pulse steady despite the sudden awareness pressing in on her.

“I can’t wait,” a younger maid gushed. “Imagine being that close to him every day.”

Claudia laughed softly. “Please. As if he’d even see you.”

The words weren’t directed at Miranda but they might as well have been.

Miranda finished her task without comment and moved to the sink. She had learned long ago that silence was safer than defense. Let them talk. Let them dream.

Her place here was temporary. Her purpose was clear.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of work. Dusting. Folding. Delivering linens. Assisting where needed. She kept her head down, her movements precise, her thoughts deliberately ordinary. By evening, the mansion had settled into a quieter rhythm, the earlier frenzy dulled into something restrained and watchful.

When night finally descended, Miranda found herself restless.

Instead of returning to her room, she slipped outside, the cool air brushing against her skin like a welcome release. Without fully deciding to, her feet carried her toward the stables.

The horses stirred softly as she approached.

James looked up from brushing one of the mares, surprise flickering across his face before warming into an easy smile.

“Well, if it isn’t the angel who keeps finding her way into my domain,” he said lightly.

Miranda laughed, tension easing from her shoulders. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Never,” James replied. “You’re always welcome here.”

She leaned against the stall door, watching his practiced movements. “How are you?”

“Better now,” he said smoothly. “And you? You look like you’ve survived a storm.”

She smiled. “Something like that.”

They talked easily after that. She asked how long he’d worked at the mansion, and he told her about London—how he’d grown up there, how the accent never quite left him.

“I came back to Colorado,” he said, “to stay with my grandmother. She raised me, really. When she passed four years ago… I stayed. Horses were the one constant I had.”

Miranda listened quietly, her expression softening.

“I was recommended here,” he continued. “And I’ve been here ever since. Best decision I ever made.”

“And you?” he asked gently. “How did you end up here?”

“My aunt,” Miranda said. “She was injured. I’m filling in until she heals.”

James tilted his head. “Temporary, then.”

“Yes.”

He smiled, slow and knowing. “Shame. You suit the place. Even if it doesn’t deserve you.”

Her cheeks warmed. “You flirt dangerously well.”

“Occupational hazard,” he replied with a grin.

They talked until the stars crept higher, until the night wrapped itself around the stables in quiet understanding. When Miranda finally said goodnight, she felt lighter than she had all day.

Back in her room, Sofia sat up immediately.

“Mimi, where have you been?” she asked. “You didn’t have dinner, so I brought it for you.”

Miranda smiled, touched. “Thank you.”

Sofia eyed her carefully. “So,” she said, grinning. “What do you think of young Mr. Negasi?”

Miranda paused, spoon hovering.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that some people are better admired from a distance.”

Sofia laughed. “Good answer.”

Miranda wasn’t sure why—but she had a feeling distance would be harder to keep than she hoped.