Warnings in the dark

My fingers shake as I reread the message.

“Enjoy the attention, little maid. You won’t like what happens next.”

A chill creeps down my spine.

I glance up. Damien’s eyes are still on me, sharp and unreadable. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smile. Just watches—like a wolf deciding how best to sink his teeth in.

I shove my phone under my notebook and force my breathing to slow. I am not about to have a public panic attack. Not when Grayson is still beside me, stealing glances. Not when the entire room is filled with rich kids who would love to see the poor scholarship girl squirm.

I swallow hard.

What the hell does that message mean?

Was it a joke? A threat? A warning?

My skin prickles. No matter how I try to spin it, one thing is clear—

This game just stopped being safe.

The moment class ends, I bolt.

Grayson calls my name, but I pretend not to hear him. I need air. Space. Sanity.

And Maya.

I practically sprint back to the dorm and yank open the door.

Maya looks up from a half-eaten bowl of noodles and raises a brow. “Why do you look like you just saw the devil’s d*ck?”

I slam the door shut behind me. “Worse. He texted me.”

Her eyes widen. “Who? Damien Wolfe?”

I nod, tossing my bag to the floor. “From an unknown number. During class.”

I grab my phone and thrust it toward her like it’s radioactive.

She reads the message. Then again. Then looks at me.

And grins.

“Maya, this isn’t funny!”

She snorts. “It’s terrifying. And hot. Mostly terrifying. But still… girl.”

I flop onto the bed. “What do I do?”

“Depends,” she says, climbing onto the bed beside me. “Do you want to survive this semester without getting blacklisted from every billionaire-owned estate in town—or do you want to play with fire and possibly burn your life down in the most delicious way?”

I groan. “I hate your metaphors.”

She nudges me. “Zara, look. He’s obsessed. He doesn’t text maids. He doesn’t look at maids. But you? He’s texting you during class like some pissed-off ex.”

“I’m not even his anything.”

“Exactly. That’s what scares him.”

Her words buzz in my ears. I want to deny it. Laugh it off. But the way Damien stared at me? The possessiveness behind that one stupid message?

It’s not nothing.

I turn to Maya. “He said I won’t like what happens next.”

She leans closer, deadly serious. “Then you better figure out if you want to run… or play.”

I chew my lip, stomach tight with nerves.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

She smirks. “Then maybe let him make the next move.”

The mansion is too quiet when I arrive for my evening shift.

No usual chatter from the other maids. No music from the kitchen. Just the cold tick of the grandfather clock echoing through the hallways, like it’s marking time for something… darker.

Mrs. Donovan greets me with a stare that could curdle milk.

“You’re late.”

“I’m early.”

She scoffs. “Damien’s study. He’s expecting you.”

I freeze. “Expecting me?”

She doesn’t repeat herself. Just walks off.

My throat dries.

I make my way to the study, the door cracked open like it’s waiting to swallow me whole. Golden light spills out, warm and haunting.

I knock. Once. Twice.

No answer.

I push it open.

And there he is.

Damien Wolfe.

Leaning back in his chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make my brain stutter. A glass of whiskey in one hand. And that damn smirk on his face.

“I was wondering when you’d show.”

“I was sent to clean.”

He nods toward the untouched shelves. “Then clean.”

I cross the room and start dusting, even though the place is already spotless. Every nerve in my body is on fire under his stare.

The silence stretches.

Then: “I don’t like being ignored.”

I pause.

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” I say, dusting the same shelf again. “I was in class.”

He stands. Slow. Deliberate. “With Grayson.”

I turn to him. “Is that a problem?”

His eyes narrow, but his voice stays calm. Too calm. “He touches you a lot for a friend.”

I bristle. “You don’t get to comment on that.”

He moves closer, circling me like a threat. “You think I’m playing games?”

“Aren’t you?”

He stops inches away. “You’re not the toy, little maid.”

My breath catches.

“You’re the trigger.”

His words hit like thunder.

Before I can process them, he leans in. Close enough to set every inch of me on edge.

“But if you want to pretend this isn’t happening… fine.” He straightens, coldness seeping back into his eyes. “I’ll make sure the next maid I f*ck knows her place.”

The sting of his words burns. I flinch—but I don’t let him win.

I lift my chin. “Good. Then you won’t need to text me next time.”

His jaw tightens for a fraction of a second—just long enough to make me wonder if I hit a nerve.

But I don’t wait.

I walk to the door and grab the handle, pulse roaring in my ears.

“Zara.”

I freeze.

His voice is low. Flat.

But deadly.

“I suggest you check your locker before you leave tonight.”

I turn just enough to meet his eyes. “Why?”

That same smirk returns. But this one doesn’t flirt—it threatens.

“So you know where you stand.”