Part 1 — The Weight of a Secret
Elena stared at her reflection in the small mirror above the dresser.
The woman staring back looked tired — pale, haunted.
But behind her eyes burned a dangerous mix of fear, desire, and determination.
She whispered to herself, "How much longer can I keep living this lie?"
Before she could answer, there was a soft knock on the door.
Camille's voice, smooth and cold, floated in.
"Elena, you have guests."
Heart pounding, Elena opened the door to find the butler and a man in a tailored suit.
The man's eyes were sharp and calculating. "Miss Elena, I'm Mr. Grant. I represent Mr. Wolfe's business interests."
Elena nodded, confused but wary.
Part 2 — A Message from the Master
Mr. Grant adjusted his gold cufflinks as he stepped inside the small maid's quarters. The luxury of his presence clashed with the modesty of the room, and Elena suddenly felt like she didn't belong in either world—servant or seductress.
He cleared his throat.
"Mr. Wolfe requests your presence at the penthouse level. Discreetly. Tonight."
Elena's breath caught in her throat.
She swallowed. "W-Why?"
Mr. Grant didn't blink. "He said, and I quote: 'No more waiting. I want her now.'"
A chill danced down her spine, but it wasn't just fear. It was anticipation, and shame, and a thrill she couldn't name.
After a moment of silence, Mr. Grant handed her a black envelope.
"You are to wear the contents at exactly ten p.m. Sharp."
She stared at the sleek envelope in her hand, heart pounding. She hadn't seen Xavier since the last time they'd touched, skin to skin, in the dark corner of the library.
Was she a pawn now… or a willing participant in a dangerous game?
Part 3 — Laced Temptation, Brewing Storm
Elena waited until Mr. Grant was gone, the heavy click of the door echoing like a warning in her chest.
She sat on the edge of her bed and tore open the envelope.
Inside was a midnight-black negligee—silk, sheer, and dangerously delicate. The kind of thing no wife would ever be sent. This was an invitation.
A command.
Her fingers trembled as she held the fabric against her skin. It was beautiful… sinful. And it confirmed what she already knew—Xavier didn't just want her again. He wanted control.
Before she could hide the dress, the door burst open.
Camille stood there.
Her eyes locked on the lingerie in Elena's hands. Silence stretched like a blade.
"…Who sent you that?" she asked, voice razor-sharp.
Elena quickly folded the negligee and tucked it under a pillow. "No one. Just an old… donation."
Camille didn't believe it. Not for a second. "You're lying. And I'm going to find out why."
Her gaze lingered a moment longer before she slammed the door behind her.
Elena's heart pounded. Secrets had a way of slipping out at the worst moments. And tonight, everything could unravel.
Part 4 — After Dark, He Waits
The mansion fell quiet by 9:45 p.m.
Elena's hands shook as she stepped into the negligee. The silk hugged her curves like a lover's memory. Over it, she slipped on a long coat, buttoned tight, and pulled her hair into a low bun.
Every footstep up the servant stairwell felt heavier than the last.
By 10:00 p.m. exactly, she reached the penthouse floor. She hesitated before the door—thick oak with gold trim—and then knocked once.
It swung open without a sound.
Xavier stood near the fireplace, his back to her, drink in hand. He didn't look at her, not at first.
Then, slowly, he turned.
His gaze raked over her, heat blooming in his dark eyes. "Take off the coat," he said, voice low and sharp.
She froze.
"Elena," he warned, "Don't make me ask again."
Her fingers moved of their own accord. The coat fell in a hush to the marble floor.
Xavier crossed the space between them in two strides. His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her chin upward.
"I tried to stay away," he whispered. "But I can't. Not when you look at me like that."
Their mouths collided—fierce, claiming, desperate.
She knew this was wrong.
But in his arms, nothing else mattered.
Part 5 — A Dangerous Question
Xavier's lips trailed down Elena's throat, his breath hot against her skin. Every kiss was a vow he wouldn't speak aloud. Every touch, a punishment for needing her this badly.
She arched into him, losing herself in his heat… until a single word slipped past her lips.
"Why?"
He stilled.
Her hands pressed against his chest, her voice shaky but firm. "Why me, Xavier? You're married. You hate your wife. But why me?"
His grip on her waist tightened. "Don't ask questions you don't want answers to."
"I need to know." She looked into his eyes, searching for something real. "Am I just your… escape?"
He stepped back, just slightly.
"I don't love Camille," he said quietly. "I never did. That marriage was an arrangement. Politics. Legacy. Control."
His jaw clenched. "But you… you burn through my rules. You weren't supposed to matter. You're supposed to be invisible."
He took a deep breath, pain flickering in his gaze.
"But when I touch you, I feel like a man again. Not a weapon. Not a name."
Elena's heart cracked a little. It wasn't the answer she wanted… but it was raw, and it was real.
And it made her fall just a little deeper.
Part 6 — Camille's Discovery
Camille paced the long marble hallway, restless and suspicious.
Something wasn't right.
Her instincts, honed over years of guarding her status and image, buzzed like a silent alarm. Xavier had been distant for months—but lately, there was something else. Something hidden.
She paused near the back staircase—the one the staff used—and noticed something odd: a faint scent of perfume lingering in the air. It was floral… delicate. Not her brand. Not hers at all.
Her eyes narrowed.
She turned sharply and made her way toward the maid's quarters. Knocking twice, she waited. No answer. Good.
Camille slipped inside.
Everything was painfully neat—Elena was careful, no doubt—but Camille was ruthless. She searched the drawers, the bed, the closet. Then, under the pillow, she found it.
The envelope.
Black. Unmarked.
Inside it: a folded note and a receipt from a luxury boutique—under Xavier Wolfe's name. Item: Silk negligee, black. Custom size.
Camille's hands trembled.
She had her proof.
Part 7 — Confrontation in the Dark
Xavier sat in his study, shirt half-unbuttoned, a tumbler of bourbon in his hand. The fire crackled low, casting shadows over his sharp jawline.
He was still thinking about Elena. Her skin. Her question. The guilt he pretended not to feel.
Then the door opened without warning.
Camille entered, heels clicking like gunshots on the floor.
In her hand, the envelope.
"Lose something, husband?" she said, voice smooth but venomous.
Xavier straightened. "You went through my staff's things?"
"I went through your maid's things," she corrected coldly. "And look what I found."
She tossed the receipt onto his desk. It landed like a bomb.
Xavier didn't flinch.
"So?" he said calmly, swirling his drink.
"You bought her lingerie." Camille's lips curled. "Tell me this isn't what it looks like."
He stood, placing the glass down slowly.
"It's exactly what it looks like."
Her eyes flared.
"No lies? No excuses?"
"I'm done lying to you, Camille."
She laughed—sharp, bitter. "You'll ruin us. The investors, the family—"
"Let them fall," he cut in. "I'm not living a lie anymore."
Camille stepped closer, hate blazing in her eyes. "Then I'll burn everything you've built."
Their war had officially begun.
Part 8 — Revenge Wears Red Lips
Camille wasn't the kind of woman to cry in the dark. She was the kind to scheme in silence and strike when it hurt most.
That night, she made only one call.
"Mr. Laird? I need a full background check on a housemaid named Elena Ortiz. Everything. Family, history, previous jobs… weaknesses."
The line went quiet.
Then came the response: "Understood."
By morning, Camille had everything she needed—and a plan cruel enough to make Xavier regret ever touching another woman.
Meanwhile, Elena woke to whispers. The household buzzed strangely, and heads turned when she entered the kitchen.
"Mrs. Wolfe's been asking about you," one of the maids whispered, eyes wide. "She knows."
Elena's stomach dropped.
She barely made it to her quarters before Camille arrived, flanked by two security men.
"Elena Ortiz," Camille purred, stepping inside. "You're being transferred."
"Transferred?" Elena asked, heart pounding.
"Yes," Camille said sweetly. "From my house… to the gutter where I found you."
Before Elena could speak, the guards grabbed her suitcase and escorted her out.
Just like that, she was gone.
No goodbye. No warning.
And Xavier… didn't know yet.
Part 9 — The House Without Her
Xavier knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the house.
It was too quiet.
No soft scent of lavender in the hallway. No glimpse of dark curls disappearing around corners. No warmth in the air.
"Elena?" he called, walking through the rooms. "Elena!"
Silence.
He marched to the head maid's office. "Where is she?"
The woman looked up nervously. "Sir… your wife had her removed this morning."
Xavier's jaw tightened. "Removed?"
"She's gone, Mr. Wolfe. Fired. Escorted out by security."
Rage boiled in his chest. He stormed upstairs, slamming open the door to Camille's lounge.
She sat by the window, sipping tea like nothing had happened.
"You crossed a line," Xavier growled.
Camille smiled. "No, you crossed it first."
"Where did you send her?"
Camille shrugged. "She's a maid. Does it matter?"
He slammed his hand against the wall. "Tell me where she is."
But Camille only stood and walked past him.
"Now you know how betrayal feels," she whispered.
That night, Xavier made a call of his own.
"Find Elena Ortiz," he said to his security chief. "I don't care what it costs. Bring her to me."
Part 10 — The Black Car
Rain drizzled as Elena sat on a public bench, clutching the only bag she had left.
She'd stayed in a small hotel the night before—one with flickering lights and water-stained walls. But now her money was nearly gone.
No job. No home. No protection.
Her heart ached—not just from betrayal by Camille, but from Xavier's silence. Had he even tried to stop it?
Did he regret her?
A long sigh escaped her lips as thunder rumbled in the distance.
Then a sleek black car pulled up beside her.
She turned cautiously. The window rolled down.
"Elena Ortiz?" asked a suited man from inside. "Mr. Wolfe sent me."
Her breath caught.
"I'm to escort you back. Immediately."
She hesitated. Her pride screamed no. Her heart whispered yes.
"What if I don't want to come back?" she asked.
The man didn't flinch. "Then Mr. Wolfe said to tell you: He's willing to beg. On his knees."
She blinked, stunned.
The door opened.
Elena stood, staring at the open car… torn between pain and desire.
Slowly, she stepped inside.
Part 11 — On His Knees
The car pulled into the Wolfe estate just after sunset.
Elena's pulse thundered as the mansion came into view, its windows glowing like eyes watching her return.
The door opened before she could reach it.
And there he was.
Xavier stood in the rain-soaked doorway, no umbrella, no suit jacket—just a man stripped of pride and fury, standing vulnerable.
"Elena," he said, voice raw.
She stepped out slowly, unsure, guarded.
"I shouldn't have let her touch you," he said. "I shouldn't have stayed silent."
"I thought you didn't care," she whispered.
"I cared too much."
And then, before she could say more, Xavier dropped to one knee.
Not in proposal—but in penance.
The mighty CEO, kneeling before the woman he couldn't stop craving.
"I want you back," he said. "As my maid, or as something more—I'll take whatever you give."
Elena's throat tightened.
The rain clung to his lashes, but he didn't move. He waited.
Slowly, she stepped forward… and placed her hand on his cheek.
His eye closed,like her touch was the first breath after drowning.
"I'm not your's to command anymore", she whispered. "But I am yours"
And with that she leaned in and kissed him- softly,like a promise .
Part 12 — Eyes in the Shadows
The rain softened to a drizzle as Xavier lifted Elena into his arms, carrying her through the doors like she was something fragile and precious.
No one dared speak.
No one dared question.
Upstairs, the door to his private suite closed behind them. The moment it did, the air shifted.
Xavier set her down gently, his eyes drinking her in like a man starved.
"I dreamed of this," he murmured, cupping her face. "Of your return. Of undoing every mistake."
Her voice trembled. "Then stop talking."
Their lips collided—hungry, desperate, furious at the time they'd lost. He lifted her against the wall, her legs wrapping around his waist like it was where she belonged.
Clothes fell like whispers to the floor.
His mouth found her skin like he'd mapped her body in every fantasy. She gasped his name, nails digging into his shoulders, while he devoured her like a man reclaiming his soul.
It wasn't just lust. It was obsession. It was regret. It was them.
But outside, hidden in the shadows of the hallway…
Camille stood still, one hand clenched around her wine glass, the other pressed against the wall.
Her eyes burned with hatred.
"They think it's over," she whispered, smiling coldly. "It's just beginning."
Part 13 — A Wife's Vow
Camille paced her walk-in closet like a caged lioness, her silk robe trailing behind her as she poured another glass of wine with shaking hands.
"They all think I'm the villain," she spat, "but I'm the wife."
Her gaze settled on the photo of her and Xavier from five years ago, framed in gold. Smiling. Perfect. Delusional.
She threw the frame across the room. It shattered.
Camille dialed a number. A man answered on the second ring.
"It's me," she said coolly. "I need you to handle something… sensitive."
A pause.
"No, not kill. Not yet. Just… scare her. Shake her up. Remind her who really owns this house."
She ended the call with a smirk.
Back upstairs, Xavier and Elena lay tangled in bed. Their bodies slick with sweat, breaths slow, hearts still racing from their reunion.
Elena traced a line down his chest. "What happens now?"
He kissed her fingers. "Now? I fight for you. In public. In court, if I must."
She looked away. "That won't be easy."
"I'm not afraid of Camille."
But he should have been.
Because that night, as Elena walked down the garden path alone to clear her head, a black SUV pulled up slowly behind her… headlights off.
Part 14 — Shadows in the Garden
Elena wrapped Xavier's silk robe tighter around herself, barefoot on the cold stones of the garden path. Moonlight kissed her cheeks, but the peace she hoped for never came.
She felt it before she heard it.
The low purr of an engine. The crunch of gravel.
She turned. A black SUV rolled toward her slowly, no headlights, silent like a predator. Her breath caught.
"Hello?" she called, backing up.
The door opened.
A man stepped out—broad, hooded, face hidden in shadow.
"Stay back!" she shouted.
He didn't.
She turned to run—but he grabbed her arm.
Rough hands. Gloves. The smell of sweat and metal.
She fought—kicking, screaming, twisting.
A slap cracked through the garden air.
Her knees buckled.
But before he could drag her into the SUV, a voice thundered across the lawn.
"LET HER GO!"
Xavier.
He charged like a man possessed, rage in every step.
The attacker shoved Elena to the ground and ran, vanishing into the night.
Xavier was at her side in seconds, cradling her, shaking.
"Elena… baby, I'm here."
Her lip was bleeding. Her arm, bruised. But her voice was steady.
"She sent him," she whispered. "Camille."
Xavier's eyes went dark. "Then Camille just declared war."
Part 15 — The Line Has Been Crossed
By morning, the estate was a fortress.
Armed guards. Security cameras. Police tape around the garden where Elena was attacked.
Xavier stood at the window, jaw clenched, phone to his ear.
"I don't care how much it costs," he barked. "I want Camille Vale investigated. Every bank account. Every burner phone. I want to know who she hired and why."
He ended the call and turned to Elena, who sat on the couch with a bandaged lip and a blanket wrapped around her.
"I'm okay," she said softly.
"You're not," he replied. "But you will be. I swear it."
She reached out for his hand. "What now?"
"I file for divorce," he said without hesitation. "Today. I've been dragging it for too long. No more games. No more appearances. No more marriage."
Elena's eyes widened. "She won't let you go easily."
"Let her try," he growled. "She came after you. That was her last mistake."
Later that day, Camille received an envelope delivered to her suite.
Inside: Divorce papers. With one sentence underlined.
"Grounds: Irreconcilable differences — and endangerment of another woman's life."
She laughed bitterly. "He thinks this is over?"
She poured herself another drink.
"Oh no, darling… It's only just begun."