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ELLA

This is the third time I’ve slept with Nathaniel Vexley.

The third time I’ve let him touch me.

Except this time was different.

That’s the part I hate most.

If he’d taken me the way he did before—desperate, rough, selfish enough that I could call it what it was and let myself be mad at him—maybe this would be easier. If it had been only fucking, I could shove my feelings back into whatever dark corner they crawled out of and remind myself that rich men have always mistaken women’s bodies for things they’re entitled to use.

But it wasn’t just fucking.

Not this time.

This time, he looked at me.

This time, he touched me like every inch of skin he uncovered mattered. Like I wasn’t a maid. Like I wasn’t a mistake. Like I wasn’t simply a warm body in an empty room.

I draw in a shaky breath and press my palm against my chest as if that will hold everything inside.

It doesn’t.

My skin still remembers him. My mouth. My thighs. My pussy that’s still warm and tingling.

I look toward the corner of the ceiling at the camera.

Someone may have watched us.

Someone might still be watching me.

Heat crawls up my neck.

I yank the sheet tighter around myself. I find my uniform first, crumpled near the foot of the bed, one sleeve turned inside out. Then my bra and panties. I can’t help a smile as I pick up the cotton panties. Nathaniel said they were sexy. I never thought of them as anything beyond practical.

I dress quickly and get ready to leave when I notice something silver on the floor. Nathaniel’s belt buckle. His black leather belt is still here. He forgot it.

I scoop my apron from the floor and tie it around my waist. Then I cross to the door and press my ear against it.

Nothing.

No footsteps. No voices. Only silence.

I grip the knob and open the door⁠—

“Oh!” I gasp.

Audrey stands in front of me.

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

She eyes me up and down. I know the moment she takes in my messy hair, my swollen mouth, my crooked collar. The heat I still feel on my skin. The room behind me.

The bed.

Her eyes sharpen and she looks at me with pure malice. “Well,” she says. “What a busy little maid you’ve been.”