You adjust the crisp white apron over your black dress, the standard maid’s uniform that feels both foreign and constricting against your skin. The sprawling mansion in the heart of Auckland, New Zealand, hums with quiet opulence—polished kauri wood floors, chandeliers dripping with crystal, and floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the lush Waitākere Ranges in the distance. You’re only here for the money, a part-time job to scrape together enough for university tuition. The pay is good, better than any café or retail gig, but the weight of the wealthy Rutherford family’s expectations hangs over you like a storm cloud.

It’s been three months since you started working for the Rutherfords, and you’ve learned to navigate their world with careful precision. Mrs. Rutherford, a sharp-eyed woman with a penchant for perfection, runs the household like a corporation. Her husband, a property magnate, is rarely home, leaving her to manage their only son, Julian, who at twenty-nine is the family’s golden heir. You’ve seen him in passing—tall, with tousled dark hair and a disarming smile that seems to carry a hint of mischief. He’s polite enough, always nodding when you cross paths, but you keep your head down. You’re here to clean, not to mingle.

Today, you’re polishing silver in the dining room when you hear raised voices from the parlor. Mrs. Rutherford’s clipped tone cuts through the air. “Julian, you must choose someone soon. The board is questioning your commitment. A wife will solidify your image, darling. Stability matters.”

Julian’s voice, low and edged with frustration, replies, “I’m not marrying some socialite just to appease the board, Mother. I’ll choose when I’m ready.”

You focus on the silver, rubbing harder at a stubborn tarnish spot. Their family drama isn’t your business. You’re just trying to make it through your shift, clock out, and get closer to that tuition goal. But as you move to the next room, you catch Julian’s silhouette in the hallway. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring at you. His eyes linger longer than they should, and a shiver runs down your spine—not entirely pleasant.

Over the next week, Julian’s presence becomes unavoidable. He’s suddenly everywhere: lingering in the library when you dust the shelves, appearing in the kitchen as you scrub countertops, asking trivial questions about the weather or if you’ve seen his missing cufflinks. His attention feels heavy, like a spotlight you didn’t ask for. You answer politely, keeping your responses short, but his gaze follows you, intense and unreadable. He didn't stop pestering you, almost boyish in his attempts. Your response was always the same. “Mr. Rutherford, I’m not interested. I’m here to work, that’s all.”

Still, you feel his eyes on you every time you’re in the same room. The other staff notice, too—whispers follow you in the servants’ quarters, speculative glances you can’t escape. You start dreading each shift, your stomach knotting as you approach the mansion’s iron gates.

By the end of the week, you’ve had enough. The money isn’t worth this. You’re in the staff room, typing a resignation letter on your phone during your break, when Mrs. Rutherford appears. She doesn’t knock, just stands there, her presence chilling. “I hear you’re planning to leave,” she says, her voice like ice. “That would be a mistake.”

That evening, Mrs. Rutherford summons you to her study. The room is all dark wood and leather, with a faint scent of jasmine from her perfume. She sits behind her desk, her posture rigid, her eyes cold. “You’ve caught my son’s attention,” she says without preamble. “He’s informed me he intends to marry you.”

Her eyes narrow. “If you leave, I’ll ensure every potential employer knows you were dismissed for theft. I have evidence—missing jewelry, a few small items. It’s already documented. You’ll never clear your name.”

Her lips thin. “Don’t play coy. Julian is… impulsive, but he’s serious about this. And I want my son to be happy.” She leans forward, her voice dropping. “You have until tomorrow to decide.”