Stephanie sat quietly at the long maid's table, her uniform still crisp, her fingers trembling around a mug of tea. Morning light streamed through the wide kitchen windows, soft and golden but it couldn't warm the tight knot in her stomach.
Today was her first real day as a maid in the Smith mansion.
Rosa, the head of staff and the same woman who once worked with her mother, walked in with her usual hard face. She was tall, strict, and always spoke like she didn't have time for nonsense. Her black heels clicked across the tile as she stood at the front of the room, hands clasped behind her back.
"Listen up, girls," she barked, clapping her hands once.
Everyone sat straighter. Stephanie, too.
"There are twenty-four of you assigned to different sections of the house. But when it comes to the heirs' chambers, we rotate shifts two girls per day. Clean, polish, organize. Do not speak unless spoken to. And most importantly…"
Her sharp eyes swept the room.
"Never, and I mean never, enter their rooms when they're inside. If you hear movement leave. If you ignore that rule, you're on your own."
Stephanie swallowed hard. Her palms were damp.
She barely knew the three brothers. She had only seen Damien from a distance and even that one accidental meeting in the hallway was enough to shake her. The way his eyes looked at her, cold and hungry, had burned into her mind. But now, hearing Rosa's firm warning, it all felt more real. More dangerous.
"Their preferences," Rosa continued. "Mr. Damien likes his space cold, spotless, and his clothes arranged by color. His desk must be dusted, but never touch any files. Mr. Hardin wants everything dim. No sudden noises, and never move his books. Even if they're on the floor. Mr. Jason…" she sighed. "He barely lets anyone in. Tosses clothes everywhere. If he complains, just apologize. Do your best."
Some of the girls exchanged nervous glances.
"These are rich, powerful men," Rosa added. "And they're used to getting what they want. Keep your heads low, do your work, and stay out of their way."
The meeting wrapped up, and the maids started gathering their cleaning carts. Stephanie stayed seated a bit longer, absorbing it all.
"Are they really that dangerous?" she finally whispered to the girl beside her.
The girl glanced around and then smiled gently. "I'm Valerie. And yes, they are."
Stephanie frowned. "What do you mean?"
Valerie's voice lowered. Her eyes looked tired. Older than her age. "I've been here for two years now. You're new, so I'll tell you straight… Don't let the charm fool you."
Stephanie blinked.
Valerie's voice broke slightly. "One night, I got called up to Hardin's room. Said he spilled whiskey. I didn't know Jason was there too… or Damien."
She paused.
"I said no," Valerie whispered. "I begged. But they didn't stop."
Stephanie felt her blood run cold.
"They didn't care about the begging," Valerie said, voice dead. "And when I told Rosa, she told me I was lucky they didn't throw me out."
Stephanie's mouth went dry. "Why are you still here?"
"Where would I go?" Valerie gave a bitter laugh. "Besides, once they get bored of you, they forget. Now I just clean the East Wing and keep my head down."
Stephanie couldn't breathe for a moment. The mansion felt larger than before. Darker. She thought of her mother. How she'd always spoken of this place like it was a second home. A place of honor. Service. Loyalty.
"They're beautiful, Stephanie," Valerie said, eyes locking on hers. "But they're not human when they want something. Be careful."
Stephanie nodded slowly, her thoughts spiraling. She had promised her mother. But her mother never said anything about danger. About being trapped like prey.
Still, she stood. Straightened her apron. And followed the other girls toward the servants' quarters, where she'd be trained to clean marble floors, prepare expensive meals, and avoid the wrong gaze.
Their days were tightly scheduled. Breakfast had to be ready by 6:30. Bathrooms cleaned by 9. Laundry rotated twice daily. There were specific rules for ironing designer suits, for arranging the massive flower vases that stood in the halls, and even how to address the pets that roamed the estate.
Stephanie found herself in awe of the mansion's grand interior. Every hall sparkled like a royal palace. Chandeliers hung like crystal clouds, and gold-trimmed frames lined the corridors. The floors were always spotless, thanks to the maids that walked around in silence with polished carts and dusters.
By mid-afternoon, Stephanie was already exhausted. Her legs ached. Her fingers were raw from scrubbing. The kitchen bustled with chefs shouting in Italian. Rosa barked orders nonstop. And every time the door to the main hall creaked open, Stephanie's heart jumped, terrified it would be one of them.
She watched Valerie work with quiet efficiency. The older girl moved with muscle memory. Fast, clean, invisible.
Later that evening, as the staff began settling down for dinner, Rosa reappeared with a clipboard.
"Stephanie."
"Yes, ma'am."
"You'll shadow Maureen tomorrow and assist with upstairs cleaning. You'll be on laundry for the East Wing today."
Stephanie nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
She started to walk away, but Rosa stopped her. "You have your mother's eyes."
Stephanie turned, surprised.
"She was a good woman," Rosa added. Her tone was flat but something flickered behind it. "Worked hard. Kept her head down. Never complained."
Stephanie wanted to say thank you. She wanted to ask a thousand questions about what her mother had really seen behind these walls. But Rosa had already turned away.
That night, as she lay in her small room on the second floor of the servant wing, Stephanie stared at the ceiling. The lights were out. The house was quiet. But her mind wasn't.
She thought about Valerie's words, about the cold warnings behind Rosa's eyes. The glamour of the Smith mansion was nothing but a trap. A beautiful one, yes but a trap all the same.
She thought about her mother's last words. The promise she made. How she had agreed to work here just to ease her mother's passing. At the time, it felt like the right thing to do. A final gift. But now… it felt like a curse.
A part of her wanted to run. To pack her bag and never look back. But where would she go? The house her mother left behind was given away. She had no one else. No home. No backup plan.
And the Smith brothers already knew she was here. One had already looked at her like she was something to be owned.
Stephanie turned onto her side and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the heavy silence that pressed into her room.
She was beginning to understand: the Smith mansion wasn't a home.
It was a game.
And the players were far more dangerous than she had ever imagined.