I walked into the mansion well past midnight, my heels clicking softly against the polished marble floors. The place was quieter than I expected. Too quiet, my brain whispered. Every shadow seemed to stretch a little longer, every sound a little sharper.
I carried the small grocery bag from my last run, the one the ride service had delivered for me, I set down the groceries down in the kitchen, and my mind refused to stop churning. Okay, Nariah, deep breaths. It's just a house. He's… he's not even here. Right?
That's when I saw her.
A young girl, lounging against the wall near the stairs. Long straight black hair that gleamed under the soft light, oversized pajamas, and a calm confidence that made me immediately stiffen.
"You must be Nariah," she said. Her voice was soft, but something about it carried authority.
I hesitated, then nodded. "Yes… I'm Nariah."
She smiled lightly. "I'm Casey. I live here with… well, I guess technically I live in, but more like I pop in and out. I'm his sister."
My stomach did a little flip. His sister? No… that can't be him. I mean, he wouldn't bring his sister—he…
She glanced at me and tilted her head slightly, like she could read my thoughts. "Don't worry. He's already up in his room. You can go settle into yours."
I nodded again, suddenly feeling like I was intruding in someone else's world. I carried my bag up the stairs, still imagining the man from the restaurant last night—the one who winked like he knew secrets about me and the one who spoke with me, even though it wasn't for long.
My room welcomed me with a warm glow and the faint scent of fresh linens. I took off my shoes, and let out a long breath.
Okay… just sleep. Just try to sleep. Everything's fine. It's just a new city. A new job. Nothing… personal… yet.
I crawled into the bed, pulling the covers close, but my mind wouldn't let me rest. I kept replaying last night—the restaurant, his smirk, those impossibly dark eyes. And the way he'd leaned casually, talking to me as though he already knew me.
Why do I feel like I already know him? I wondered, staring at the ceiling. No, you don't. Calm down.
Eventually, exhaustion won. My thoughts drifted lazily, my eyelids heavy, and I finally surrendered to sleep.
***
The next morning arrived far too early. My phone vibrated sharply at six a.m., and I groaned, blinking at the luxurious breakfast menu that had already been sent. Exotic English breakfast, perfectly arranged, and… more food than I had imagined I'd ever eat alone.
I jumped in the shower, letting the warm water chase away the last traces of sleep. My outfit was casual but crisp: a blue shirt tucked into black jeans, paired with white sneakers. No frills, no distractions—just me.
By six-thirty, I was in the kitchen, tying my apron and adjusting my chef's hat. The morning light spilled across the counters, golden and soft, and I felt the faint thrill of being exactly where I was supposed to be.
And then I heard it.
A voice, deep and smooth, drifting faintly through the hall.
"Impossible," I whispered, stopping mid-arrangement. It… it can't be. No way.
But the cadence. The way the words rolled off his tongue. That subtle charm. That… presence. My heart raced, and my stomach fluttered. It has to be him. It can't be…
I shook my head violently. "No, Nariah. You're imagining things. It's just the acoustics. Totally normal. Not him."
But before I could convince myself further, a voice called from the doorway.
"Nariah?"
I looked up. Sarah, the housekeeper—elegant in her age and efficiency, though she didn't live here—stood with her hands clasped. "Mr. Hayes wants to see you."
My heart lurched. See me? Now? Oh God, now?
I followed her into the living room, trying to steady my racing pulse. And then I saw him.
Seated casually on the couch, leather jacket thrown over a plain black shirt and jeans, one leg crossed over the other. My mouth opened slightly, and I almost tripped over my words.
He looked up, and my brain refused to catch up. Those dark eyes. That smirk. That… him.
He stood, and everything I'd imagined collided with reality. My heartbeat thudded in my ears as he extended a hand.
"Cassian Hayes," he said smoothly. "And I know your name already."
I hesitated, then shook it, still trying to process.
"You… you're—" I started, but he interrupted.
"You don't have to call me boss," he clarified, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Mr. Hayes is fine. Or just Hayes, really."
I swallowed hard. "Oh… I… sorry. I didn't… I didn't recognize you as my boss last night."
He waved it off with casual ease. "Not a big deal. I knew you were my private chef. Did a bit of background check before offering the position."
My thoughts spun. He… did a background check? On me? Before giving me the job? My chest tightened, my stomach twisting into a mix of nerves and thrill.
"Casey?" he added, glancing at the young woman from last night.
"We've met already," Casey replied with a small smile.
He nodded and turned back to me. "Breakfast should be ready soon. Why don't you get back to the kitchen?"
I nodded silently, retreating before my thoughts ran entirely away from me. Once inside the kitchen, I leaned against the counter, trying to catch my breath.
Okay… he's just… my boss. Just my boss. Keep it professional. Don't think about last night. Don't think about him. Just focus… breakfast…
I plated everything carefully, making sure the exotic English breakfast was perfect. The scents, the colors, the precision—everything had to be flawless.
Once finished, I grabbed my phone and typed Rick a quick text:
You won't believe this. My boss… he's… the guy from last night. I can't… I just…
His reply was instantaneous.
Not a big deal. Don't let it bother you.
Not a big deal? I muttered, staring at the screen. Easy for him to say. He wasn't just standing there looking like a damn dream with those eyes.
I set the phone down, taking a deep breath. Time to focus. Time to plate. Time to work.
But in the back of my mind, Cassian Hayes wasn't going anywhere.
And neither were the thoughts racing faster than I could control.
***
The day slipped by in a blur of sugar, chocolate, and the sweet smell of vanilla. Casey hovered around the kitchen, bouncing between scrolling on her phone and offering me her opinion on what I was plating.
She was… striking. Brown eyes that seemed to catch every light, perfect symmetry in her face, petite frame like she'd stepped off a runway. I reminded myself to focus on the desserts and not on comparing myself.
"Do you think the macarons are fine?" I asked, arranging a tray of pistachio and raspberry ones.
Casey leaned over, inspecting them with delicate care. "Perfect. And your chocolate truffles… wow. Honestly, Nariah, you're making the kitchen glow."
I smiled, feeling the blush creep up my neck. "Thanks. I just… enjoy it."
The hours passed quickly. Casey left in the late afternoon to meet friends, promising to be back after a study session—though with the break, she'd probably just hang around. That left me alone in the kitchen, putting the final touches on desserts for the evening.
Tarts, mini eclairs, chocolate-dipped strawberries, tiny lemon meringues… I even snapped a few pictures to remember the setups. Honestly, it almost felt like a small exhibition of my work.
By evening, the hum of the mansion shifted. I felt it before I even saw him. Cassian arrived, his presence entering the space like a current. Behind him were two others—tall, broad, confident. He introduced them quickly: "Luther and Dave."
They made their way outside to the pool area. Cassian's voice carried through the open windows, requesting more desserts and drinks to be served. Ladies were coming over, he said casually, like it was just another evening. I tried to convince myself I wasn't bothered, that it didn't matter. I was busy plating, arranging, and photographing. It's just work. It's just desserts. Nothing personal.
But when the girls arrived, three models who could have been on magazine covers, the air seemed to thicken. They joined the men at the pool area, laughter mingling with the soft splash of the water. I carried a tray toward them, trying to appear professional.
And then I saw him.
Cassian. Shirtless. Abs tight and defined, veins showing faintly along his arms, the smiley face tattoo on his right arm catching the pool's reflective light. His skin glistened slightly, the evening light making him look like something unreal. My breath caught. My stomach tightened, and—God, my core felt it too.
One of the girls leaned in, fingers brushing his chest casually. I could hear them congratulating him on another property deal. Property. Not me. Calm down, Nariah. Just desserts.
I placed the snacks and desserts down, back to the kitchen, pretending nothing had struck me. But my thoughts wouldn't leave. Did he even notice me last night? Now he sees me like… this? What do I even do? Focus. Focus.
I didn't notice Luther standing there until I nearly bumped into him. Curly hair, caramel skin, broad and imposing, with warm brown eyes that fixed on me as if he were assessing a painting.
"You've got serious plating skills," he said, voice smooth, stepping closer. "And these flavor combinations… excellent."
I swallowed, hands tightening on my tray. "Thank… thank you," I murmured, trying to keep my eyes on the desserts instead of him. Keep it together. Just desserts.
He moved closer, his presence pressing into my awareness. "You're… really beautiful," he murmured.
I shifted back subtly, my chest tightening. Oh no. Not this.
"You're too beautiful to be a private chef," he continued, voice low, almost teasing. "You could be a boss lady in my penthouse."
I met his gaze calmly. "I… enjoy cooking. It's… not a problem."
His eyes darkened with something I couldn't name—a hunger, a want, a desire that made my pulse spike. My stomach twisted.
Then his thumb brushed my cheek. Instantly, I pulled back. "Back off," I hissed, voice sharper than I expected.
But he didn't stop. He stepped closer, hands moving to my waist, pressing me near him. "I know what you want," he whispered, voice low and dangerous. "And I can make all your dreams come true."
Panic erupted in me. I struggled, twisting and pushing him away, my mind screaming, Stop! Stop! Stop! His lips leaned dangerously close, and his hands—he tried to grab inappropriately.
Then a loud, commanding voice cut through everything: "STOP!!!"
He froze instantly, letting go. I stumbled back, chest heaving, trying to catch my breath.
Cassian appeared in the doorway, dark eyes sharp. "Are you okay?" he asked.
I nodded, though I was shaking so badly I could barely hold myself upright.
From the hallway, I heard him yell at Luther, his voice crisp and dangerous. "You apologize, now. Don't even argue."
I heard a begrudging "Fine" from Luther, then a soft voice behind me.
"I… I'm sorry," Luther said, stepping cautiously forward.
"It's… fine," I whispered, still trembling, unable to look him in the eye.
He returned to the pool area, the men and the women leaving shortly after, their laughter fading with the night.
I collapsed into the kitchen chair, head in my hands. Humiliation, confusion, anger, and fear all spun together. Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours, and he's already seen me in… in this. My boss. My actual boss. How am I supposed to focus on work after that?
The mansion was quiet again, the hum of air conditioning and faint night sounds the only background. I closed my eyes, wishing desperately for sleep to carry away the thoughts spiraling in my head. But the images lingered—the abs, the tattoo, the hunger in Luther's eyes, the authority in Cassian's.
Just sleep, Nariah. Just sleep.
I whispered it again and again until my body finally surrendered, though my mind was far from still.