For the first time in months, the house felt empty. With Victoria and her bridesmaids off to the Hamptons and the Mayor and Mrs. Grant attending a political gala across the state, the heavy silence of the mansion felt peaceful rather than predatory.
I lay spread-eagle on my narrow bed, staring at the cracked ceiling of the staff quarters. My body ached from the humiliation of the night before the sticky residue of champagne still felt like it was clotted in my hair but my mind was blissfully blank.
I was just Sasha. Not a maid, not a fugitive, not a secret. Just a girl breathing in the quiet.
A sudden, sharp knock at my door made me bolt upright, my heart leaping into my throat.
"Sasha? Open up."
I scrambled to the door and pulled it open, my eyes wide. Ethan stood there, dressed in a dark, tailored jacket and a crisp white shirt, looking far too energized for the hour.
"Ethan? What are you doing in the staff wing? If Harrison…"
"Harrison is four towns over picking up a 'rare' vintage of cognac I insisted we needed for the wedding reception," Ethan said with a wicked, boyish grin. "He won't be back until tomorrow morning. The house is ours, Sasha."
I leaned against the doorframe, a dizzying mix of relief and anxiety washing over me. "You're insane. You shouldn't be here."
"I'm here because I'm tired of seeing you in that black dress," he said, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind my ear. "I'm here because you've never seen this town outside of the back of a grocery van. Get your things. We're going out."
"Out? Ethan, I can't, if…."
"You can. And you will."
He didn't give me a choice. Within twenty minutes, we were in the sleek, low-slung interior of his Porsche, sneaking out the house, tearing down the winding driveway of the estate. The wind felt like a cold, sharp blade against my face, slicing away the layers of dust and misery I'd accumulated over the past months.
Our first stop was a small café to eat. The food was simple, but comforting, and for a moment, I let myself relax.
The moment we stepped inside, I couldn't help but wonder why such an elegant place was completely empty. Before I could even ask, Ethan said casually, "I had to close it down just for us."
I bit back a small laugh, thinking, He wouldn't want to be seen with a maid like me.
Our next stop was a high-end boutique in the city center. The boutique itself was just as immaculate as I imagined, and I noted that he had probably closed it up entirely just for us.
I sat in a plush velvet chair while a woman with silent, professional hands transformed me. She scrubbed the champagne from my hair, painted my lips a deep, defiant crimson, and slipped me into a dress that felt like liquid midnight. For the first time, when I looked in the mirror, I didn't see a ghost. I saw a woman who could hold a room's attention.
Ethan stepped closer, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Wow… you've outdone yourself," he murmured, his voice low. "I didn't think anyone could look like that and then you go and prove me wrong."
I couldn't help but smile no one had said something like that to me in forever.
The club was a blur of neon lights, pulsing bass, and the sweet, burning sting of expensive tequila. It was a world of beautiful, careless people who moved with the confidence of those who never had to check over their shoulder.
Ethan kept his arm draped firmly around my waist as we navigated the crowded VIP section. A group of his friends men who looked like younger, less weathered versions of the Mayor I greeted him with cheers.
"Ethan! Where have you been hiding?" a guy named Julian yelled over the music, his eyes drifting curiously toward me. "And who is this?"
Ethan didn't hesitate, his grip on my hip tightening just a fraction. "A friend. Sasha."
He didn't say 'the maid.' He didn't say 'the help.' For one night, I was just Sasha, his friend.
As the night wore on, the alcohol began to blur the edges of the world. I felt light, untethered from the ground. I was laughing really laughing for the first time since I'd crossed the border.
But the bubble burst slightly when Ethan stepped away to handle a phone call. Julian, his eyes clouded with drink and curiosity, slid into the seat next to me.
"So, Sasha," Julian purred, leaning in far too close, his hand resting on the back of my chair. "Ethan's a lucky guy. Where did he find a 'friend' like you? You don't exactly run in our usual circles."
"I... I'm new to the area," I stammered, the old instinct to hide kicking back in.
"Well, if Ethan's too busy with his business talks to keep you entertained," Julian whispered, his hand sliding down to touch my shoulder, "I'm much better at multitasking."
I felt a surge of panic, but before I could pull away, a shadow loomed over us. Ethan was back. The look on his face was terrifying a cold, sharp fury that made Julian instantly recoil.
"Julian," Ethan said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Back off. Now."
"Easy, man," Julian held up his hands, laughing nervously. "Just being friendly."
"Be friendly with someone else," Ethan snapped. He turned to me, his expression softening instantly, though the fire was still in his eyes. He grabbed two more shots from a passing tray and handed one to me. "Ignore him. Let's dance."
I took the shot, the liquid fire hitting the back of my throat. I didn't care about Julian, or Victoria, or the missing lace. I didn't care that Harrison was currently driving back with cognac, or that Mrs. Grant was likely planning my downfall in a hotel ballroom miles away.
The music swelled, the lights spun, and I leaned into Ethan, the alcohol finally numbing the fear. I drank until the floor felt like water and the ceiling felt like the sky. For this one night, the fugitive was dead, and the girl was finally, dangerously alive.