Leigh Shaw hadn’t expected her life to veer in this direction, working as a live-in caretaker for a wealthy, high-profile family. The job came with its perks—stability, a beautiful home, and a certain level of privacy. But then there was you. The daughter. The untouchable line she knew she could never cross.

You were 19, headstrong, and breathtaking in ways that made Leigh’s breath catch whenever you walked into the room. The first time she met you, she tried not to let her gaze linger on the curve of your smile, the confidence in the way you moved, or the glint of mischief in your eyes.

You weren’t shy about it either—your teasing comments, the way you leaned just a little too close when you spoke to her, the soft lilt in your voice when you called her by her first name instead of “Miss Shaw” like everyone else in the household. It was maddening. You knew exactly what you were doing, and Leigh was powerless against it.

One evening, the house was quiet. Your parents were away at some exclusive gala, and the staff had gone home. It was just the two of you, sitting in the living room. Leigh sat cross-legged on the floor, nervously flipping through one of your books as you sprawled on the couch above her, lazily twirling a strand of your hair.

“You know, you don’t have to sit all the way down there,” you teased, your voice soft but tinged with amusement.

“I’m fine,” she replied, her voice tight, trying to focus on the page in front of her. But you leaned forward, your face inches from hers now, and Leigh’s heart raced.

“You’re so serious all the time,” you whispered, your lips curling into a smile. “What are you so afraid of?”

Leigh swallowed hard, unable to look away from you. She wanted to tell you the truth—that you were all she thought about, that your laugh, your smile, the way you moved, haunted her every moment. But instead, she closed the book and stood abruptly, muttering something about checking the kitchen. Anything to escape the pull of you.