At first, I’m elated. A new location means new opportunities to snoop and eavesdrop. The corners of my mouth even twitch back up as I reply, “That’s fine. Where have I been assigned to?”
Afrim’s brows pull together and he hesitates—something that should have clued me in. “We’ve decided to assign you to Roan’s house.”
“What?!” I’m on my feet before I can stop myself, whatever trace of a smile I had vanishing as my mind whirls. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who the other part of thatweincludes. But why? Why the hell would Roan want me in his house? His personal space. The place no other maid has ever been allowed?.
Afrim waves me back down, and I comply automatically, though every muscle in my body remains tense. “You’ll move into the building instead of going back and forth from your current room, continuing the same duties you perform here—but in his house—and occasionally making his meals.” He pauses. “Can you cook?”
I can cook, but—what? Why am I being moved into his house?
“It may sound like a lot, but really, I doubt you’ll have much to clean. The place is already spotless. And of course, your pay will be increased.”
I barely register the part about the pay. My mind is stuck in a loop.
Roan’s house? Living with him? Being alone with him day after day, night after night?
I’ve been trying so hard to maintain distance, to ignore thepull I feel whenever he’s near. To lock down whatever twisted attraction keeps surfacing. But this—this is too much.
“But… what if I want to remain here?” I force the words out, hoping my voice sounds steady even as my heart hammers with dismay and something else. Something I absolutely refuse to think about. They can’t just move me without my consent, can they?
“That’s too bad, but you can’t remain here.” Roan’s voice cuts in, and my heart stutters, my body physically jolting.
Shit. When did he?—
I turn slowly, and there he is, filling the doorway with his tall, solid frame, radiating tension like a live wire. His eyes are locked on me, intense and almost angry, though I can’t tell why.
Is he mad at me? He’s the one demanding I move in with him! I know it’s his doing. Not Afrim’s.
“You’re mine now.”
The words land with dark finality, and inappropriate heat rushes through my body. I feel it sudden and sharp between my thighs, and I press them together instinctively, hating how my panties dampen, hating how those three words from his mouth can unravel me like this.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“It’s settled, Mia,” Afrim says with a small smile, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air.
I try to swallow, but my throat has gone dry, pulse thundering so loud in my ears that everything else sounds muffled and distant. Roan’s gaze doesn’t waver. The longer he looks, the harder it is to breathe. I feel trapped, exposed.
I mumble something—I don’t even know what—and flee, walking as fast as I can back to the maid’s quarters.
You’re mine now.The words echo in my head the whole way there.
What does he mean I’m his? Is he angry with me? Whywould he be? But if he’s not angry, then why did his words feel like a threat?
No, not a threat. A promise.
Don’t overthink it.Stop feeling. It’s nothing.
I’m shoving my meager wardrobe into a bag when someone knocks. The door swings open before I can answer, and Esma’s bright face peeks in. “You’re moving into Roan’s house?”
The excitement in her voice grates against my frayed nerves. “Yeah, apparently.”
Her eyes go wide, practically glowing. “No maid has ever been allowed to live with the Përmetis before. Girl, is something going on between the two of you?”
“No!” The denial comes out too sharp, too defensive, but I can’t help it. Because I hate the way my heart thuds at the mere suggestion. I soften my tone because it’s not her fault my life is imploding. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“Because you’re moving into hishouse.” She steps inside, folding her arms like a prosecutor making her case. “You could still clean it from here. Why would he make you move in?”
Good point. I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. Because I don’t know. Because I didn’t get a choice. “Who knows what the hell is going on in his head?” I mutter, stuffing another shirt into the bag. What does he want with me anyway? Does he suspect something?
