Chapter One: The Boy Everyone Worshipped
They said he was perfect.
Dylan Blackwood—flawless jawline, killer smirk, and eyes cold enough to freeze fire. When he walked through Crestview High's golden gates, time slowed. Conversations paused. Girls flipped their hair. Boys straightened up. Teachers smiled like they feared him.
But I didn't.
I couldn't afford to.
Because while they saw him as a god walking among them, I knew a different side of Dylan—the one who tossed his keys at me like I was invisible. Because I was. Just a maid. The help. Nothing more.
And today, he looked at me like he'd just found out who I really was.
"You're the girl from the mansion," he said, his voice low, unreadable.
I froze. In the middle of the crowded hallway, I felt like I'd been stripped bare. He smirked. That same devilish smirk I had seen when he caught me cleaning his room last week.
From that moment, I knew two things.
One: Dylan Blackwood had recognized me.
Two: My life at school was about to become a living hell.
I wanted to disappear.
The hallway buzzed around me—laughter, locker doors slamming, footsteps echoing—but all I could hear was the sound of his voice, still playing over in my head.
"You're the girl from the mansion."
Not Isla. Not the quiet one from Biology.
Just the maid.
I clutched my books tighter to my chest and forced myself to move, to walk past him like nothing happened. But my heart thudded like a drum in my chest, loud enough I was sure he could hear it.
This school was my escape. The only place I wasn't wiping glass tables and scrubbing marble floors. But now… even here, I wasn't safe.
"Well, well, if it isn't Cinderella in uniform."
My eyes flicked up—and there she was.
Jasmine Lane.
Head cheerleader. Daughter of a senator. Owner of the most toxic smile I'd ever seen.
And the girl who had been obsessed with Dylan since forever.
She leaned against her locker, flipping her glossy black hair like she was in a shampoo commercial, eyes narrowed directly at me.
"I saw him looking at you," she said, voice dripping with venom. "Don't get ideas. He doesn't date the help. He tips them."
Her squad laughed behind her like trained parrots.
I didn't respond. I never did. That was the rule: ignore, survive, repeat.
But as I walked away, I could feel two pairs of eyes on me.
One filled with hate.
And the other? With something much darker.
THE Mansion;
The mansion loomed before me, its towering gates almost mocking my every step. The Blackwood estate was nothing short of a palace—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and gold-trimmed everything. I hated it. The beauty was suffocating, and the silence... unnerving.
I'd only been working here for a few months, but already, I knew every corner of the place. The smell of fresh linen in the hallways. The soft hum of the air conditioning that kept everything perfectly cool. But most of all, I knew Dylan's room. The one I had to clean every week.
It was always the same. A few stray clothes on the floor, his bed made just so, the books scattered across his desk as if he'd left in a rush. But today, it was different. The room felt… wrong. Like something was off.
I reached for the door handle, my hand trembling, and pushed it open.
And there he was—standing by the window, staring out at the horizon. His usual smug expression was replaced by something colder, darker. His back was to me, but I could feel his awareness of my presence, like he could hear my every breath.
"You're late," he said without turning. His voice was low, almost a whisper.
I swallowed hard. "I—I'm sorry. I lost track of time."
"Don't make excuses," he snapped, turning sharply to face me. His gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, I felt trapped. His eyes weren't just cold—they were calculating. Every part of me screamed to run, but my feet wouldn't move.
There was a silence, thick with tension. And then, in a move I didn't expect, Dylan crossed the room toward me. His steps were slow, deliberate, like he was savoring my discomfort.
"You think you're clever, hiding in the shadows," he said softly, his lips curling into that devilish smirk I hated so much. "But you're not. Everyone knows. Everyone can see."
I tried to speak, but my voice caught in my throat.
"You're not one of them," he said, his tone suddenly serious. "You're nothing like them."
I didn't understand what he meant—was he mocking me? Or did he see something I hadn't realized? Before I could respond, he stepped even closer, almost close enough to touch.
I couldn't breathe. The distance between us felt suffocating, and for a brief second, I felt a spark of something—a strange, dangerous pull. But I immediately pushed it away. This was Dylan Blackwood. He was nothing but trouble.
"I don't need you here," he said softly, but there was a fire in his eyes. "But I won't make you leave, not yet."
And just like that, the moment passed. He turned away again, walking back toward the window.
I stood there, unsure of what had just happened.
Was he playing me? Or was I starting to see a side of him no one else saw?
should've looked away. I should've kept walking. But as I stepped past Dylan, I glanced back—and he was still watching me. Not with curiosity. Not with interest. But with intent.
Like a hunter who had just found something new to break.
I turned the corner, heart thudding so loudly it drowned out the rest of the hallway noise. Jasmine's laughter faded behind me, but her words stuck like gum on the bottom of my shoe: He doesn't date the help. He tips them.
Maybe that was true. Maybe Dylan Blackwood would never really see me.
But something in his eyes told me otherwise.
This wasn't over. Not even close.
And for the first time since I'd started working at the mansion, I felt something worse than fear.
I felt seen.