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“I know you will.”

His Lordship stepped closer, and it almost felt as if he sniffed my hair. I must have been mistaken. My heart was pounding, my blood rushing in my ears.

“I’ll inform the majordomo, and he’ll give you instructions. Now, go.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

No staff was allowed on the third floor of the grand house, except for one servant. His Lordship’s bedrooms were on the third floor, and he required utmost privacy. The upper-floor servant would deliver food and drinks when ordered, remove clutter, and be ready to obey His Lordship’s immediate orders if needed.

This position was the most coveted among junior staff, not just because of the higher pay. The upper-floor servant was expected to be available from one o’clock in the afternoon to midnight on Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. That meant he only worked four days and was free three days a week. The work was rumored to be light—mostly picking up empty glasses and staying out of the way.

I knew better than to underestimate the tasks of the upper-floor servant.

I would move close to His Lordship and his companions, yet I should remain unnoticed. Drinks should appear on tables as if by a miracle, and dirty clothes should vanish without a trace at a moment’s notice. This kind of work shouldn’t be seen unless I neglected something.

I wanted to be happy about my unexpected promotion, but deep inside, I was terrified. Why me? I wasn’t the most experienced nor the fastest. I was scared I’d fail and lose my job.

“I think His Lordship chose you because you’re discreet and quiet,” the majordomo said. “He values the peace his home offers, and you will contribute to said peace. Now, stop fretting. This is a great honor. I’m proud of you, boy, and I believe you won’t disappoint me.”

He adjusted my collar and patted my shoulder with a gloved hand.

“Go upstairs. It’s nearly one.”

Discreet and quiet. That was true. I didn’t care for gossip, and while the others chatted relentlessly during cleaning and in the kitchen, I preferred working in silence. I could focus better like that. I was also small and slight, and my feet barely made a noise on the carpets. I could be quiet like a cat. If silence and discretion were the main requirements, I might be good enough after all.

I told myself things like that all afternoon as I swept through the hallways and the guest rooms. I collected a few odd plates and sent them downstairs with the dumbwaiter. His Lordship and his companions spent their nights in the salon, sunroom, and main bedroom. I heard voices from the sunroom, so I avoided it unless called.

The first time the bell rang, I jumped and almost dropped the vase I was holding. I returned it to the side table in the empty guest room and hurried toward the sunroom.

I found three omegas inside. I had to address each of His Lordship’s companions with the correct title and first name, but only if they spoke to me first.

Angelo was the youngest, only one year older than me. He was a model and a dancer and incredibly beautiful. In an ad at the drugstore, I’d seen him wearing nothing but satin panties. The image was etched into my memory in great detail.

“Oh. You’re new,” Angelo said, and hopped up from the recliner he’d been sitting on. He wore loose linen pants and an open shirt that billowed around him as he walked toward me.

“Good afternoon, Master Angelo. My name is Sesto.” I gave a slight bow and waited.

“Sesto? Strange name. We want a pitcher of margaritas. Can you make that happen?”

“Of course, Master Angelo.”

“God, Angelo, really?” The young man who groaned was Brooks. He’d been with His Lordship for three years at least. Nobody knew where he came from. One day, he appeared at His Lordship’s side at a function, and they’d been inseparable ever since. Brooks was tall for an omega, with broad shoulders and a firm jaw. His dark eyes unnerved me.

“Why not?” Angelo challenged. I waited because I hadn’t been dismissed yet.

“Because it’s barely three?”

“Well, His Lordship is taking his sweet time today. If I’m tipsy by the time he graces us with his presence, he has only himself to blame.”

“But a pitcher of margaritas? Don’t you want something less tacky?” The voice came from the armchair by the glass wall. This omega’s name was Elliot. He was the oldest and His Lordship’s legal husband, so I would address him as Lord Elliot if spoken to.

A sliding door on the other side of the room moved apart, and two omegas walked in, holding hands. Meo and Raphael.

“What’s going on?” Meo asked.

“Angelo is ordering drinks,” Brooks said.

Angelo folded his arms over his chest. “Elliot thinks my taste is tacky.”