Chapter 3: Rules and Expectations
1312 Words
Lexi’s feet ached as she climbed the stairs to her room. The mansion was enormous, pristine, and suffocatingly silent most of the time. Every surface gleamed, every window sparkled, and not a single thing was out of place. It was the kind of order that made her uneasy. Nothing in her life had ever been this controlled.
She had only been here for three days, and already, she understood why so many before her had quit. It wasn’t the work. She was used to hard labor. It was the weight of expectation, precision, and unspoken tests. Every moment, she felt watched, measured. Judged.
And she knew exactly who was doing the measuring.
Julian Saint Clair.
She had barely interacted with him so far, yet somehow, she felt his presence in every corner of this house. His routines dictated every movement within the estate. If something wasn’t done exactly as he liked it, she had no doubt that he would notice.
Flopping down on her bed, she stared at the ceiling and exhaled slowly. She had nowhere else to go. No savings. No backup plan. She would last here as long as she had to—even if Julian Saint Clair made it impossible.
Her fingers brushed against the edge of the handbook Mrs. Hawthorne had given her on her first day. She had laughed at first. Who the hell needed a book just to be a housekeeper? But after reading it, she understood. This wasn’t just any household.
Julian Saint Clair’s world was one of control. Precision.
His coffee must always be served at exactly 180 degrees.
No unnecessary conversation with him.
His office was strictly off-limits unless instructed otherwise.
He preferred his newspapers ironed. (Who irons newspapers?!)
His personal space was not to be disturbed.
She had memorized every word. She didn’t have a choice.
Her first few days had been a blur of learning where everything belonged, how to move quietly, and how to stay invisible. But the moment she thought she had things under control, Julian changed the rules.
The next morning, Mrs. Hawthorne informed her she would be handling Julian’s breakfast.
Lexi nearly dropped the silverware she was polishing.
“You mean—directly?” she asked, her stomach twisting.
Mrs. Hawthorne didn’t look up. “Naturally. Mr. Saint Clair expects his coffee at exactly six a.m. His eggs should be firm, not runny, and he prefers minimal conversation at the table. Do not linger once you’ve served him.”
The way she said it made it sound like she was entering a battlefield.
Lexi forced a nod and turned back to the kitchen, where Emma, one of the chefs, was already setting up the tray.
“You look like you’re about to faint,” Emma whispered with a grin. “Relax. He probably won’t even look at you.”
Lexi wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse.
She carefully balanced the tray and made her way to the dining room. The doors were already open. The room was enormous, with high ceilings and walls lined with windows, letting in soft morning light. And at the far end of the impossibly long mahogany table sat Julian Saint Clair.
He didn’t look up as she approached. He was dressed in a crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the strong lines of his forearms. His dark hair was neatly styled, and in front of him was a tablet he was scanning with sharp focus.
Lexi set the tray down carefully, making sure everything was in its exact place. She placed the coffee first, adjusting the handle to the precise angle she had been instructed to. The moment the cup met the saucer, Julian’s blue eyes flicked up.
Lexi froze.
His gaze moved from the coffee to her, cool and assessing.
“You’re on time,” he remarked, his voice smooth but unreadable.
Lexi straightened. “I read the handbook.”
For a brief second, something flickered in his expression. Something close to amusement. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.
He lifted the coffee cup, took a sip, and then paused.
Lexi’s stomach dropped.
Had she made a mistake?
Julian exhaled slowly, setting the cup down with deliberate care. “Next time,” he said evenly, “a fraction less sugar.”
Lexi nodded quickly. “Of course, sir.”
She turned to leave, but before she could step away.
“Miss Thompson.”
Her breath hitched. She turned back. “Yes?”
Julian studied her for a moment, fingers lightly tapping against the table. Then, with an almost lazy air, he said, “You’ve lasted longer than I expected.”
Lexi wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or insulted.
She kept her expression neutral, gave a polite nod, and left the room.
Emma was waiting for her in the kitchen when she returned, arms crossed with a knowing smirk. “You survived.”
Lexi exhaled. “Barely.”
“He notice anything?”
“He said the sugar was slightly off.”
Emma laughed. “Told you. He notices everything.”
Lexi shook her head, half in disbelief. “Who the hell is that particular about sugar?”
“Julian Saint Clair.”
By the afternoon, Lexi was cleaning Julian’s office.
She moved quickly, careful not to disturb anything that didn’t need dusting. The space was an extension of the man himself—cold, controlled, and expensive. Dark leather chairs, glass shelves, and a massive desk that held everything in precise order.
She wiped down the bookshelves, her fingers tracing over leather-bound volumes that probably cost more than her entire existence. But as she reached for the last shelf, something caught her eye.
A photograph.
It was tucked behind a row of books, barely visible. Unlike the carefully arranged décor of the house, this felt personal.
She hesitated, then carefully pulled it forward.
Julian was in the picture, looking younger, more relaxed. His arm was around a woman with long, dark hair, her face turned toward him in a genuine smile. She was beautiful. There was an ease between them. Something soft. Something that didn’t seem to exist in the Julian Saint Clair she knew.
Her fingers tightened on the frame. Who was she?
“You’re curious.”
The deep voice shattered the silence.
Lexi jumped, nearly dropping the frame.
She turned sharply to find Julian standing in the doorway.
His blue eyes were locked onto hers, unreadable, unreadable, unreadable.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
“I...I was just.”
“Lying doesn’t suit you, Miss Thompson.” His voice was slow, deliberate.
Lexi swallowed hard.
Julian stepped forward, his presence consuming the space between them. He reached out, effortlessly plucking the frame from her hands. Their fingers barely brushed, but the contact sent a jolt through her.
He glanced at the photo before setting it back down, this time fully in view.
The silence between them was thick.
Lexi wanted to look away, but she couldn’t.
"Do you always touch what doesn’t belong to you?" His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it.
She met his gaze and squared her shoulders. "I was just dusting."
A slow, almost amused smile touched Julian’s lips, though it held no real warmth.
“Of course,” he murmured. “Dusting.”
The air between them felt charged. Tense. Unspoken words lingered.
Julian tilted his head slightly, watching her a little too closely. Then, just like that, he turned away.
“Your shift is over,” he said, his voice returning to its usual cool tone. “You may go.”
Lexi hesitated, then nodded and left.
But as she stepped out, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just crossed an invisible line.
And Julian Saint Clair had definitely noticed.
- Writer
