Chapter 2: Temptation Of Flesh

IRIS

I try so hard to blink my facial features to normal as an elegant woman walked into the parlor. She wore a tailored, expensive emerald dress that hugged her curves perfectly, her diamond jewelry catching the light. Her beautiful face twisted into immediate disgust the moment her eyes landed on me. She walked around me, looking at my cheap dress and old shoes as if I were a stray dog that had tracked mud onto her clean floors.

"She looks like she crawled out of a gutter," the woman sneered, her voice dripping with venom. "I ordered an experienced maid, Eli, not a charity case from a church home."

The man—Eli—didn't defend me. He didn't even blink. He just went back to his papers, his silence is like a cold wall of indifference.

"Well, since you're here, you will work," the woman snapped, turning her back to me. She raised her voice. "Agatha! Get out here!"

A young woman in a sharp, crisp maid uniform stepped out from a side room. She looked barely older than me, but her posture was rigid, her expression tight and arrogant.

"Take this girl away," the woman ordered, entirely ignoring me now. "Get her out of my sight and put her to work. If she breaks anything, she's on the street."

"Yes, Madam Savannah," Agatha said, offering a stiff bow. She glanced at me, her eyes flashing with instant superiority. "Follow me. And keep up."

I picked up my bag and hurried after Agatha, my mind spinning into overdrive. As we walked down a long, complicated hallway toward the back of the mansion, my heartbeat finally began to slow to a normal rhythm.

What is wrong with you? I chided myself fiercely. Staring at a man like that—staring at the master of the house—was a sin. It was a betrayal of everything I had been taught. More than that, he was a married man. His wife, Savannah, had just humiliated me, and Eli hadn't even cared to look up.

I shook my head, clearing the lingering warmth from my cheeks. I hadn't left the orphanage to fall apart over a handsome, cold billionaire. I had a goal. I needed to work, earn my money, and get into medical school. I had to graduate. I had to do it for Joseph, my sickly little brother who was still trapped in that cold orphanage, waiting for me to become a nurse so I could save him. He was my only family. He was the only thing that mattered.

Agatha stopped at the very end of a narrow, dimly lit hallway in the servants' quarters. She pushed open a plain wooden door.

"This is your room," she said coldly.

I stepped inside, and a small gasp escaped my lips. It was more than I had ever hoped for. At the orphanage, I shared a crowded ward with twenty other girls. Here, there was a neat single bed with clean white sheets. A small wardrobe. And a window—a real window that looked out into a beautifully manicured, sprawling greenhouse garden. It was a space entirely my own.

My eyes fell on the bed, where a stark light blue-and-white uniform lay neatly folded.

"Don't get too comfortable," Agatha interrupted, stepping into my line of sight to re-establish her authority. "Let’s get the rules straight. I am the head maid, which means you answer directly to me."

She began to rattle off a brutal list of dos and don'ts, her voice sharp and domineering.

"Number one: You do not go to the upper floor unless you are explicitly assigned to clean it. That is the family's private sanctuary. Number two: Stay away from the family. If Mr. Hawthorne or Madam Savannah enter a room, you vanish. Keep your head down and keep quiet unless asked to speak. And number three: Do not get on the matriarch, Madam Paisley's, nerves. If she catches you slacking or acting out of place, you are out on your face before the day ends. Do you understand?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced a polite smile. "I understand, Agatha. Thank you."

"Change into your uniform immediately," she commanded, gesturing toward the bed. "When you're done, join me in the kitchen. Walk back down the hallway and it's just on your left. Don't make me wait."

Agatha sniffed, clearly annoyed that I hadn't argued, and turned on her heel. She marched out, slamming the door behind her and leaving me in the silence of my new room.

The quiet settled over me like a heavy blanket.

I dropped my bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress was soft—so much softer than the iron cots at St. Luke's. But as the silence deepened, the image of Eli Hawthorne's dark, predatory eyes suddenly rushed back into my mind. I could still feel the phantom heat of his gaze, a pressure that made my skin tingle in a way it never had before. It felt dangerous. It felt sinful.

Panic flared in my chest. I quickly dropped to my knees on the floor, clasping my hands tightly together beneath my chin. I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut until I saw spots.

"Dear Lord," I whispered into the empty room, my voice trembling with an emotion I couldn't name. "Please guide my steps in this place. Protect my mind from temptation and wicked thoughts. Give me the strength to do my work, to save Joseph, and to remain pure in your sight. Amen."

I stood up and wiped a stray tear from my cheek. I hadn’t come all the way here to be defeated by the devil.

I stripped off my plain orphanage dress and reached for the folded uniform. As I pulled the fabric over my skin, my heart skipped a beat. This wasn't like the baggy, shapeless smocks I was used to. The blue material was thin, clinging tightly to the curves of my waist and hips. I smoothed the skirt down, but it stopped well above my thighs.

I looked down at myself, a sudden rush of shame hitting me. It felt incredibly sinful to wear something that highlighted my body so shamelessly. Yet, as I stared at how the fabric hugged my chest, a dark, hidden part of me secretly loved it. It made me feel visible. Alive.

I swallowed the guilt, quickly opened the door, and retraced my steps down the narrow hallway, desperately hoping I wouldn't get lost. I found the door on the left and stepped into a massive, professional kitchen.

Delicious, rich aromas filled the air. A large man in a white chef's jacket was busy plating food at a stainless-steel island.

"This is Iris, the new help," Agatha announced from the corner.

The chef gave me a brief, friendly nod before returning to his work. Agatha, however, didn't move. Her eyes raveled down my body, lingering on the short hemline of my skirt with a look of pure judgment. I shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, my cheeks burning.

"Carry this," Agatha ordered sharply, pointing to a massive, heavily loaded silver tray containing several covered porcelain dishes.

She picked up a small, light tray with a silver water pitcher and a few glasses. I stepped forward and lifted the heavy tray. The metal bit sharply into my palms, and my arms instantly strained under the weight. I gritted my teeth, balancing it against my chest as I followed her out of the kitchen.

Did I ever lift anything this heavy at the orphanage? I wondered, my muscles aching with every step. Even carrying water buckets from the well hadn't prepared me for this.

We walked into a grand, formal dining room. The long marble table was lit by low candlelight.

The entire family was already seated.

My breath caught as I carefully approached the table, focusing entirely on not dropping the heavy load. I managed to set the tray down onto the marble surface without making a sound, my hands trembling from the exertion.

"Madam Paisley, this is the new maid I was telling you about," Savannah said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness as she looked across the table at an older, stern-faced woman.

Madam Paisley merely grunted, not even bothering to look up from her plate. Sitting next to her was a younger girl, who barely glanced in my direction, completely indifferent to my presence. Savannah, however, didn't hide her disgust. She stared at my cheap, worn shoes peeking out from beneath the crisp uniform, her lips curling.

I tried to keep my eyes glued to the table, desperately avoiding Savannah's piercing gaze, but my eyes betrayed me. They wandered toward the head of the table.

Eli was watching me.

His dark eyes weren't looking at my face. They were locked onto my body, slowly assessing the way the tight uniform clung to my curves and exposed my thighs. The moment our eyes met, that same terrifying heat flared in the pit of my stomach. My heart fluttered inside me, and my body responded instantly to his look, a heavy, breathless ache settling deep inside me before I could even think to suppress it.

"Get out," Agatha whispered sharply, nudging my elbow as she continued to quietly arrange the side dishes.

The harsh whisper brought me back to the present. I turned on my heel and practically fled the dining room, my heart racing and my face completely flushed, feeling as if my legs were on fire.