Clara
I smooth down the crisp black fabric of my maid's uniform, the short skirt hugging my hips just a little too tightly, the white apron tied neatly around my waist. It was my third week working for Mr. Harlan, and every day I caught myself glancing at the clock, wondering if today would be the day things shifted.
The mansion was massive, with polished marble floors and towering bookshelves, but it was his presence that made my pulse quicken. He was older, successful, with that commanding voice that sent shivers down my spine when he gave me instructions.
“The study needs a thorough cleaning today, Clara,” he said as I entered the foyer that morning, his eyes lingering on me a second longer than necessary.
I nodded, biting my lip to hide my smile. “Of course, sir. I'll get right to
