All Chapters of Maid to Pleasure (SPG) : Chapter 1 - Chapter 5

The Salvatore mansion loomed before me like a beast made of marble and glass, its towering columns casting long shadows across the manicured driveway. I clutched my worn leather bag tighter against my chest, feeling every threadbare patch of my best blouse—the one I'd ironed three times this morning, praying it would pass as something a wealthy family might tolerate.You need this job, Cleo. Mom's medical bills aren't going to pay themselves.I swallowed hard, my throat dry despite the late afternoon humidity. The mansion's windows caught the dying sunlight, gleaming like cold, indifferent eyes watching me approach. I'd researched the Salvatores on my phone during the two-hour bus ride here. Old money. New power. And Cole Salvatore—the CEO who graced magazine covers like he was born for the camera.The housekeeper who answered the door was a severe woman with silver-streaked hair and eyes that assessed me in a single sweep. She didn't smile. She didn't offer pleasantries. She simply l

I didn't open the door.For hours, I lay awake in the quiet darkness, listening to the heavy stillness on the other side. He didn't knock again. He didn't say a word. But I knew he was there—the low, measured sound of his breathing, the faint shift of fabric every time he changed his stance. He stayed until the dark gave way to pale gray light.Then he was gone.Coward, I told myself, staring at the ceiling as dawn crept across the room. You're a coward.Yet I knew it wasn’t fear that had kept my hand from the latch. It was survival. If I had opened that door, I would have handed over the last piece of leverage I had left.The morning was endless.I drifted through my tasks in a haze, exhausted and hyper-aware of every sound in the house. My nerves felt drawn tight enough to snap, my skin still humming with the memory of his touch.When I passed the study, the heavy oak door was standing open—a rare breach of his usual obsession with privacy. Cole sat behind his desk, focused entirely

He made a sport of it over the next three days.Cole never broke his cool, professional veneer in front of the staff, but whenever the hallway cleared, his discipline vanished. A palm resting heavy against the small of my back as he passed me in the corridor. Fingers lingering against mine for two seconds too long when I handed him his mail. The subtle, deliberate brush of his shoulder against mine in the narrow butler’s pantry.I told myself I didn't care. I told myself the heat spiking through my stomach was just adrenaline, a natural reflex to being cornered by a dangerous man. My head knew better. My body wasn't listening.On Thursday morning, his summons came via the intercom.When I entered his private study, he was standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp white dress shirt. A charcoal silk tie hung loose around his neck."Help me with this," he said, not even turning around.I paused by the door. "You have hands."Cole turned slowly, his dark