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. . .

Lily

My hands shake as I clutch my worn leather bag, knuckles white against the faded material. Deep breath. I can do this. For Mom. For Danny. The massive doors of the Wolfe Estate loom before me, gleaming mahogany that probably costs more than our entire house.

I force myself to reach for the polished brass knocker, my reflection distorted in its surface. God, I look so out of place already in my simple blouse and skirt. But it's the nicest outfit I own, carefully pressed this morning while trying not to wake my little brother.

The door swings open silently and I step inside, immediately overwhelmed by the sheer opulence surrounding me. Marble floors stretch endlessly, punctuated by priceless art and furniture that belongs in a museum. The scent of leather and wood polish tickles my nose.

"Oh wow," I breathe, unable to stop myself.

A stoic-faced man in an impeccable suit regards me impassively. "Miss Hart, I presume? Follow me."

I trail after him down endless hallways, trying desperately to take mental notes so I don't get lost. Left, right, up a sweeping staircase that makes me dizzy. How does anyone live like this?

"Your assignment details," the man intones, handing me a thick folder. "Mr. Wolfe expects perfection."

I nod, clutching the folder like a lifeline. "Of course. I won't let him down."

I don’t know much about Grayson Wolfe other than they call him “the Beast.” Apparently because he’s so mean and cold and calculating.

That’s probably why he can’t keep a housemaid. Apparently, he yells at all of them and scares them away.

I don’t have any intention of quitting, though. No matter how big and bad this wolf is. I need this job. For mom. For my little brother.

It’s life or death. Literally.

The man's lips thin slightly. "See that you don't."

And then I'm alone, pulse racing as I flip through the pages. So many tasks, so many rules. I can do this. I have to.

Squaring my shoulders, I start down the hall, heels clicking softly on the marble. Ornate paintings line the walls and I can't help but slow, captivated by their beauty.

A flash of movement catches my eye and I turn, realizing too late that I've wandered into an unfamiliar wing. Panic flares hot in my chest as I spin, trying to retrace my steps. The identical corridors mock me, a labyrinth of wealth I was never meant to navigate.

"Focus, Lily," I mutter, pressing a hand to my thundering heart. "You can't screw this up on the first day."

I stumble through an open doorway, my heart in my throat. The room beyond is dim, masculine—all dark wood and leather.

"And who might you be?"

The voice cuts through the silence like a blade, deep and commanding. I freeze, eyes widening as they land on the man before me. He has to be Grayson Wolfe. Even in the low light, his presence fills the room, broad shoulders blocking my escape. His eyes narrow, raking over me with predatory intensity.

"I-I'm so sorry," I stammer, face burning. "I got lost and?—"

"Lost?" He arches a brow, stepping closer. "In my home?"

God, he's tall. I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze, pulse racing. "It won't happen again, sir. I was just trying to?—"

My hands are shaking so badly that the tray I'm clutching wobbles. Before I can steady it, one of the wine glasses tips. I watch in horror as dark liquid splashes across Grayson's crisp white shirt.

Time slows. The stain spreads, a crimson bloom against stark perfection. My stomach plummets.

"Oh no," I breathe. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean?—"

I reach out instinctively, as if I could somehow undo my colossal mistake. But Grayson catches my wrist, his grip firm. Electric .

I can't breathe.

"Careful," he murmurs, voice low. "You'll cut yourself."

I realize belatedly that I was about to grab broken glass. God, could this get any worse? I want to sink through the floor, disappear completely. But Grayson's touch anchors me here, his thumb brushing my pulse point.

"What's your name?" he asks softly.

"Lily," I whisper. "Lily Hart."

His eyes never leave mine. "Well, Lily Hart. It seems we have a situation on our hands."

His fingers ghost over my skin as he takes the tray, setting it aside with practiced ease. My hands feel empty, vulnerable. I can't look away from the intensity in his dark eyes.

"I...I can pay for the dry cleaning," I offer weakly, knowing it's a pathetic solution. As if I could afford to replace a shirt that probably costs more than I make in a month.

Grayson's lips quirk, not quite a smile. "That won't be necessary."

He reaches for my hand again, and I hold my breath as he turns it palm-up. There's a smear of wine across my skin, stark against my pale flesh. With deliberate slowness, he begins to wipe it away.

The pad of his thumb traces delicate patterns, and something molten pools low in my belly. This is beyond inappropriate, but I can't bring myself to pull away. My breath catches audibly.

"You're trembling," Grayson observes, voice pitched low. It's not a question.

I swallow hard. "I...I should go. This is your private?—"

"Stay." The command is soft but unyielding.

My mind races. I should leave. I need to leave. But there's an inexplicable magnetism drawing me closer, even as alarm bells scream in the back of my head.

What am I doing? He's my boss. He's dangerous. He's...mesmerizing.

"Tell me, Lily," Grayson murmurs, still stroking my palm. "What brought you to my home?"

I can't tear my eyes away from his face, my heart hammering so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "I...I needed the work," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. "My family?—"

"Ah." His thumb stills, but he doesn't release my hand. "And you'd do anything for them, wouldn't you?"

There's a weight to his words that makes me shiver. I should be offended, should yank my hand away and storm out. But I'm rooted to the spot, caught in the intensity of his gaze.

"I should go," I repeat, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.

Grayson finally releases me, and I stumble back a step, off-balance in more ways than one. "Of course," he says, his voice deceptively mild. "You have duties to attend to."

I nod jerkily, fumbling for words. "I'm so sorry again about the...the wine, Mr. Wolfe. It won't happen again."

His eyes narrow slightly, and for a moment I think I see a flicker of...disappointment? But it's gone so quickly I must have imagined it.

"See that it doesn't," he says, his tone clipped and businesslike once more. "You're dismissed."

I practically flee the room, my legs shaky as I hurry down the corridor. What the hell just happened? My skin still tingles where he touched me, and I can't shake the feeling that something fundamental has shifted.

God, I'm in so much trouble.