CHAPTER 7
887 Words
Rhea’s POV
I don’t sleep.
Not really. Not the kind of sleep where you close your eyes and the world goes quiet. I lie in bed with the keycard under my pillow and every time I doze off, I dream of the east wing door opening on its own, of Elena’s photo staring at me, of Kieran’s hands on mine.
By 5:30 a.m. I give up and get dressed.
The keycard stays in my pocket. I tell myself it’s just in case. Just so I don’t have to come back for it later. But we both know that’s a lie.
---
*6:02 a.m. — Staff Hallway*
The house is quiet at this hour. Too quiet. Like it’s holding its breath, waiting for me to make the wrong move.
Mrs. Calloway is already at the service desk, clipboard in hand, pen ready to strike through my name if I’m one minute late.
“Rhea.” She doesn’t look up. “Kitchen first. Breakfast for Mr. Ashford. He wants it at 7:00 sharp.”
I nod. “Yes, Mrs. Calloway.”
She finally glances up. Her eyes narrow slightly when they land on me. “You look tired.”
I didn’t sleep. Of course I look tired. “Long night.”
Mrs. Calloway’s gaze flicks to my pocket for half a second, then back to my face. “Keep your personal matters out of this house, Rhea. We don’t need distractions.”
I feel my jaw tighten. _Personal matters._ Like the keycard in my pocket isn’t a personal matter. Like Kieran isn’t a personal matter.
I bite my tongue. “Understood.”
She turns away and I walk off before I say something I’ll regret.
---
*6:47 a.m. — Kitchen*
The kitchen is empty. Spotless. Cold.
I set out the breakfast tray the way I was taught: silver cutlery aligned perfectly, linen napkin folded into a triangle, coffee in the black porcelain cup he always uses. No cream. No sugar.
My hands don’t shake. Not while I’m working. Working is safe. Working is routine. Working is something I can control.
It’s everything else that’s falling apart.
I glance at the clock. 6:52. Eight minutes until I have to take this up to him.
Eight minutes until I have to face him after what happened at 2 a.m.
What do I even say? _Good morning, Mr. Ashford. Hope you enjoyed last night._ No. _Good morning, sir. Pretend it didn’t happen._ Also no.
There’s no script for this. No staff manual section on “what to do after you sleep with your billionaire employer.”
I exhale and lift the tray.
---
*7:01 a.m. — Kieran’s Door*
I knock once. Then again.
No answer.
I wait ten seconds. The rule is: if there’s no answer after two knocks, leave the tray outside and report it to Mrs. Calloway.
But I don’t want to leave the tray. I don’t want to walk away without seeing him.
I knock a third time. Softer.
The door opens.
Kieran is there, dressed again. Suit. No tie. Hair damp like he just showered. He looks composed. Controlled. Like last night never happened.
Like I never happened.
“Rhea.” His voice is steady. Professional.
“Good morning, Mr. Ashford.” I keep my eyes on the tray. “Your breakfast.”
He doesn’t take it right away. He just stands there, studying me.
I feel it then — the weight of his gaze. Not the cold, distant look from my first week. Not the empty stare from the dining room incident. This is different. This is deliberate.
I finally risk a glance up.
His eyes meet mine. And for a second, the mask cracks.
There’s something there. Something raw. Something that says he remembers. That he feels it too.
Then it’s gone.
He takes the tray from my hands. “Thank you.”
That’s it. No other words. No acknowledgment of the keycard in my pocket. No mention of the east wing.
I nod and step back. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
I turn to leave.
“Rhea.”
I stop. My heart kicks up.
He’s holding the tray with one hand, the other resting on the doorframe. “Did you… think about what I said?”
I close my eyes for half a second. _Did I think about it?_ I’ve thought about nothing else.
“I’m still thinking,” I say quietly.
Kieran nods once. “Take your time.”
I walk away before I do something stupid like tell him I’ve already decided.
---
*10:23 a.m. — Guest Wing Hallway*
I’m vacuuming the hallway when I feel it. That presence. That shift in the air that happens whenever he’s near.
I don’t look up. But I know it’s him.
Kieran walks past me without a word, briefcase in hand, headed for the main exit. He’s leaving.
For a second I think he won’t say anything. That he’ll just walk out and leave me standing here with the vacuum and the keycard and the mess of everything.
Then he stops.
He doesn’t turn around. He just says it, low enough that only I can hear:
“The east wing will be unlocked tonight.”
My stomach drops.
He keeps walking.
And just like that, the choice is back in my hands.
- Writer
