บททั้งหมดของ A Maid For The Ruthless Brothers : บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

Elsie Jacob’s hand was still clamped around my wrist when I saw Lena storm toward Zaza. Her face was white with rage, eyes glittering like glass about to break. I could hear their voices even from across the patio, sharp, slicing through the music that no one was really listening to anymore. “I cannot believe him,” Lena hissed. “He just broke a senator’s son’s nose because of her! What’s so special about that girl?” Zaza stood perfectly still, her expression unreadable, her champagne glass hanging loosely from her fingers. “She’s pretty,” she said simply. “Pretty?” Lena spat the word like poison. “A maid? You’re not actually defending her, are you? He humiliated you for her!” Zaza smiled, slow, confident, maddening. “Why would I be mad? I’m not threatened that he likes her.” Her tone was calm, but something in it made my stomach twist. That wasn’t kindness. It was curiosity, the kind that burns ants with a magnifying glass. I jerked against Jacob’s grip. “Let me go,” I snapped,

Elsie I hit the cold floor of the dressing room hard, my back arching as I landed. Jacob was on me in an instant, his strong hands gripping my thighs as he spread them wide. His eyes were dark with lust, his breath ragged as he looked down at me. "Fuck, little mouse, you're so fucking hot," he growled, his cock already hard and pressing against his jeans. Aiden stood over me, his eyes locked on my pussy. “Fuck, look at that pussy," he said, his voice thick with desire. "It's so fucking wet and ready for us." He reached down and undid his belt, his eyes never leaving mine. Jacob did the same, his cock springing free and hard as a rock. I licked my lips, my pussy throbbing with need. Aiden moved in closer, his fingers finding my clit and rubbing it in rough circles. 'That's it, Elsie. Let go. We're gonna make this pussy squirt all over us.' He shoved two fingers inside alongside Jacob's cock, stretching me further, and I bucked wildly, my back arching off the Aiden's cock was rig

Elsie His lips were urgent, his tongue commanding. I could only hold onto his shoulders, feeling the thick muscles in his back tense up. He spun me around, backing me up to his huge, heavy desk. He didn't stop kissing me. His right hand swept everything off the surface. There was a loud, violent crash. The large monitor, his phone, the heavy laptop, and thick stacks of important papers were scattered everywhere on the floor. I heard the phone screen crack, but he didn't even flinch. He just cleared the space completely, focusing only on me. He finally broke the kiss, dragging his lips across my jaw and down my neck. I gasped, leaning back against the cold, empty desk. My whole body was shaking. “Caleb…” I whispered, though my voice came out unsteady. He drew back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t name. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” My heart stumbled. “You don’t have to—” “Yes, I do,” he said, his tone rough but low, the kind of voice

Elsie It took me three years of plotting and two years of constantly applying for a maid job to get into this mansion. And now it seemed I didn’t do enough. All my plans were falling apart. I was losing focus on the main reason I was here and I had to get back on track. My entanglement with these men doesn’t mean they get to walk freely. I want justice for my sister, and justice I must get. I’ve lost the only evidence I have, and I needed to retrieve it. The only way to get the golden button back was to go straight to the source, Jacob’s room. My heart hadn’t stopped pounding since I woke up. I’d spent half the morning thinking of a way to get his keycard. Asking him was out of the question. The man barely looked at me these days unless it was to give orders. I was halfway down the hall when I saw him. Jacob was coming down the opposite staircase, dressed in a black T-shirt and dark sweats, his attention fixed on his phone. He looked calm, powerful, every inch the

Caleb The Lancaster mansion hadn’t looked this alive in years. By six, the house was filled, laughter echoing down the marble corridors. It was my Dad’s birthday, Malcolm Lancaster, patriarch of a family that had built an empire out of law and cold ambition. He’d insisted on a “modest” celebration, which for him meant 100 people, imported wine, and two orchestras alternating in shifts. The rest of us, his sons, his relatives, the ghosts who carried his name, played our parts. I stood near the bar, nursing a drink I hadn’t touched, watching people arrive. Uncle Mike came first, booming like he owned the room. His wife, Aunt Margaret, followed, all diamonds and glammed up. Then came Aunt Olivia, Mrs Lancaster’s sister, who never missed a chance to stir up the past. Cousins and second cousins, the ones who only visited when cameras or inheritance were involved, they were all here. “Caleb!” Uncle Mike’s voice hit before I even saw him. He pushed through the crowd and clapped