I almost fainted.
I'm not even exaggerating. If not for the adrenaline already coursing through my veins, I might have collapsed right there in the guest room.
Carl had taken off his shirt and revealed—good Lord—an entire Greek sculpture in motion. His chest was broad, tan, rippled with muscles that didn't just scream strength, they whispered confidence. His abs looked like they were hand-carved by a sculptor with nothing but time and thirst.
I stood frozen, halfway between admiration and sin.
Oh my goodness… how can someone be this fine and still act so normal? So down to earth?
I imagined walking over to him, placing my hand flat on his chest, trailing my fingers slowly down that chiseled torso—then further down, to where his—
No. Stop
This is not a Harlequin romance novel. I am not the curvy housekeeper who gets ravished in the hallway. I am Sidney, the professional. The composed one. The one who crushes on men from a distance and calls it discipline.
Besides… Jake.
Jake was supposed to be the one. The man I'd daydreamed about for months. The reason I straightened my apron twice when I knew he was coming over. The one I stalked so much I knew his cousin's dog's name. He stole my heart first, didn't he? So shouldn't I stay committed to that feeling?
But Carl… Carl was the upgraded version. Jake 2.0. With a more expressive face, and an accent that melted my brain.
"Sidney!" Jake's voice called from the hallway. "Anne just called. She said she's not coming back tonight."
Great.
That was the last anchor of adult supervision. Gone.
And I was in here standing inches away from a man undoing his belt.
Carl smiled at me, like a cat who caught a canary. "You're going to stand there and watch me undress?"
"No!" I practically screamed.
I turned, bolted, and slammed the door behind me so fast I nearly tripped over the hallway rug. My face was on fire.
Why did I scream? Why couldn't I keep it together for five minutes?
I ran straight into Jake as he emerged from another room. He looked relaxed, casual, still on his phone.
"She asked me to remind you to ensure every entrance and window is locked before bed," he said, not looking up.
"Oh. Okay," I replied breathlessly, tucking my hair behind my ears and praying he didn't see the frantic panic written across my face.
I walked away without another word. No small talk. No fake smiles. Just a quick march to my room and the slam of my door behind me.
I locked it.
I leaned against the wall and slid down until I was sitting on the floor, my heart drumming wildly in my chest.
This wasn't normal.
I needed a therapist.
Or a cold shower.
Or an exorcist.
Why am I having these wild thoughts?
I felt like I was cheating on Jake—who, for the record, hadn't even flirted with me once. Not seriously. Not intentionally. He smiled, sure. But he also smiled at the Uber driver and the mailman.
The truth was painful.
Jake didn't hang out with maids.
He probably thought I was sweet, quiet, and mildly useful. But Carl? Carl looked at me like I was a puzzle he couldn't wait to solve. And that… that terrified me.
For a moment, I hated my job. I hated my apron, the rubber gloves, the way I folded towels like a trained robot. I wondered if Carl thought of me as some cheap maid with a cute face. Or did he see a classy girl who just happened to clean?
I didn't even know when I fell asleep.
I only knew I did because I woke up around midnight.
A soft creak broke the silence.
I sat up in bed, groggy but alert. The room was quiet… too quiet. I slipped my feet into my slippers and walked out into the hallway, hugging my arms to myself. The entire house was still.
The men were probably asleep. Jake had taken the room on the west wing, and Carl—well, I wasn't about to tiptoe past his door again.
I padded downstairs, thinking maybe it was the wind. Maybe one of the balcony doors had cracked open.
No one was in the living room. It was dimly lit from the warm glow of the wall sconces Anne had picked out herself. Gold-trimmed. Ridiculously expensive.
Then I saw Carl's wristband.
It was on the table where he'd left it earlier. Thick black leather, a slight scratch near the buckle. I picked it up and slipped it over my hand.
It was big, loose, and warm from where it had been resting earlier.
I stared at it on my wrist.
What was I doing?
I started chuckling at myself, silently. This was getting ridiculous.
I walked to the couch, where he sat down —and sank into it, sinking my face into the cushions like a lovesick fool. His cologne was still there. Earthy, musky, clean, addictive.
What is wrong with me?
I found myself smiling like a teenager. Then giggling. Then silently laughing like I'd lost my mind.
I pressed my nose deeper into the fabric and whispered, "I need help."
The living room door creaked.
My heart stopped.
The main entrance was wide open.
I stood slowly, trying to keep my breath even. My mind spun.
Maybe Jake forgot to lock it.
Maybe Carl stepped out and—
Footsteps.
Heavy.
A rustling sound.
Two shadows moved past the open door and crept into the foyer.
My chest seized.
Voices—low, urgent.
"She should be here. In her room"
"Quiet."
I ducked behind the wall that separated the living room from the hallway, barely breathing.
Who's she?
That's when it hit me.
Me.
They were looking for me.
And they weren't here for small talk.
I glanced around the corner again—two men, dressed in black. Not burglars. No one breaking into a mansion wears comms and night-vision gear.
My pulse exploded in my ears.
Okay, Sidney. This is it.
No more pretending.
No more giggling into couch cushions.
You're the daughter of General Choi.
They picked the wrong house.
I took a step back, adrenaline kicking in, my breath now slow and focused.
Let's do this.