THE UNIFORM
DOVE'S POV
I stared at myself in the hallway mirror. I looked tired.
"You're walking into a disaster," I whispered to my reflection, gripping my backpack strap until my fingers ached. "This isn't a job, Dove. It's a trap."
A shiver worked its way down my spine, and it had nothing to do with the drafty apartment.
Damien Ford wasn't just a boss. He was... heavy. There was a weight to him, a predatory stillness that made the air in the room feel too thin whenever he was around.
And that uniform.
My stomach turned just thinking about it. I'd hidden the maid outfit in the back of my closet, buried under my winter coat so Sarah wouldn't find it. It barely qualified as clothing.
When I'd tried it on for him, the way he looked at me didn't feel like an employer checking a fit. It felt like a man assessing a purchase.
"He definitely has an angle," I muttered, pacing the small living room. "Rich guys don't pay twenty thousand a month for dishwashing. They just don't. Am I literally walking off a cliff because I saw a pile of cash at the bottom?"
I looked at the peeling paint on the wall. Then I thought about the tuition bill on the counter.
The eviction notice taped to the fridge.
"Red flags look a lot like opportunities when you're broke," I said to the empty room.
"Who are you talking to?"
I jumped, spinning around. Shawn was leaning against the bathroom doorframe, a towel slung low around his hips, water dripping from his hair.
"Jesus, Shawn!" I pressed a hand to my chest, my heart hammering. "You scared me."
"You were muttering about cliffs and cash," he grinned, walking past me to his room, leaving a trail of damp footprints on the linoleum.
"Writing a new story?"
"Something like that," I lied quickly. "Just... working through a plot hole."
"You're in your head a lot lately." He disappeared into his room and came out a moment later, pulling a t-shirt over his head.
He looked at me then and his grin softened into something warmer. "You look nice today, Dove."
I looked down at my clothes. Jeans and an oversized sweater. "I look like I always do."
"Nah." He stepped closer, the smell of cheap soap and boyish charm radiating off him. He pointed vaguely near my face. "It's the lips. That color looks good on you."
I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. "Oh. It's just... some gloss Tiana gave me. Thanks."
The air between us shifted. It usually did when we were alone lately. But unlike the suffocating tension with Damien, this was warm. Safe.
"I can drive you," he said suddenly.
"To school?"
"Yeah. The bike's running good today. Save you the bus fare."
"You don't have to," I said, though I was already reaching for my bag. "It's out of your way."
"Dove," he stepped into my space, his eyes kind. "I want to. Besides, I need to ask you something."
"Ask me what?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically shy. "I was thinking... dinner. Tonight."
My heart gave a little hopeful skip. "Dinner? Like... you, me, and Sarah? Is it her birthday?"
"No," Shawn shook his head, a small, lopsided smile playing on his lips. "Just us. You and me."
I blinked. "Oh."
"You've been looking stressed," he said, his voice dropping a little. "Like the weight of the world is sitting on you. I just... I'd like to take you somewhere nice. Get a good meal in you."
Guilt punched me in the gut. Here I was, secretly agreeing to work for a man who terrified me, and Shawn was trying to save me with a burger and fries.
"Shawn, you don't need to do that," I said softly. "You barely have extra cash as it is. You did enough for my birthday, seriously."
"I'm not asking for permission," he interrupted gently, stepping closer until I had to tilt my head back to look at him. "I'm insisting. Please? Let me take you out."
I looked at his earnest face. It was such a stark contrast to the cold, calculating green eyes that had haunted my sleep last night.
"Okay," I breathed, a smile breaking through my anxiety. "Okay. I'd love that."
"Great," he beamed, looking visibly relieved. "Pick you up at nine?"
"Eight," I corrected quickly. "I have... a shift. But I'll be done by eight."
"Eight it is."
Several hours later, the warmth from Shawn's invitation had evaporated, replaced by a nausea that made the world spin.
I stood before the massive oak doors of Damien's mansion. The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the stone facade. My hand shook as I raised it to knock.
It's just a house, I told myself. He's just a man.
He's dangerous, my brain whispered back. He owns the police. If you disappear in there, no one will ever know.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe.
Twenty thousand dollars. Just one month.
Survive thirty days. Do the dishes, wash the clothes, get the check, and run.
I knocked. The sound was too loud in the quiet neighborhood.
The door clicked open almost immediately.
It wasn't a butler, or Damien. It was a woman.
She looked to be in her sixties, with severe white hair and a demeanor colder than the marble floors behind her.
"You must be the girl," she said. Her voice was dry as paper.
"Yes," I managed, my voice trembling. "Dove. I'm... I'm the new maid."
She looked me up and down, unimpressed, then stepped aside. "Come in. You're late."
"I thought start time was four?" I checked my watch. "It's 3:58."
"Early is on time. On time is late," she clipped, shutting the door behind me.
I stood in the foyer, the silence of the house pressing against my ears. "Is... is Mr. Ford around?"
The woman turned to walk away. "No. He is out on business."
My knees almost buckled with relief. My muscles, coiled tight enough to snap, instantly relaxed. He wasn't here. I was safe.
"Oh, thank God," I whispered.
"Kitchen is this way," she called out without looking back. "I am leaving. The security team is outside. Do not trigger the internal alarms."
And then she left, and I was alone.
I hurried to the kitchen. It was spotless, save for a small stack of dishes in the sink. A coffee cup, a plate with crumbs, a fork.
"This is it?" I asked the empty room. "Twenty thousand dollars for three dishes?"
I washed them in five minutes. I dried them. I polished them until I could see my own confused face in the ceramic.
The house was massive and silent, but without Damien's presence, it felt… manageable. If it could just continue like this—me alone in a quiet house doing simple chores—I could survive this.
I checked the list Damien had given me.
Collect laundry from Master Bedroom.
I swallowed hard. The bedroom.
I climbed the floating stairs, my footsteps echoing. The door to his room was open. I stepped inside and stopped.
It was intimidatingly masculine. Dark wood, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a bed big enough for four people. But it was the smell that hit me first.
Cedar and citrus. Crisp, expensive, and overwhelming.
I walked to the walk-in closet, which was larger than my entire bedroom at home. Rows of suits hung perfectly spaced.
"Okay, laundry," I muttered, spotting a sleek black hamper in the corner.
I opened it. Dress shirts, dark socks, boxers. I started transferring them to my basket. I picked up a black dress shirt and paused. The scent was stronger on the fabric. It was unnerving how something could smell so good when the man who wore it made me feel so unsafe.
I reached into the wardrobe to grab a pile of clothes set aside on a shelf. As I pulled the stack down, my hand clumsily knocked against a small, black velvet box sitting on the edge.
It tumbled down. The lid popped off.
Something red and lacy flew out and landed on the plush carpet.
My eyes widened.
It was a garter belt. Black silk, black lace, complicated straps. It was aggressively sexy.
"Oh," I breathed, cheeks flushing. "That is... definitely not for laundry."
I knelt down quickly. For his girlfriend, maybe, I told myself. Or just... company. Makes sense.
I grabbed the silk, my fingers brushing the cool fabric, and shoved it back into the velvet box. I stood up to place the box back on the shelf, pushing it deep so it wouldn't fall again.
"Just finish the laundry, Dove," I whispered.
I turned around to grab the basket.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Damien was there.
He was standing in the entrance of the closet, leaning against the frame. He was dressed in a black shirt, top buttons undone, sleeves rolled up.
He hadn't made a sound.
"Sir!" I gasped, stumbling back until I hit the wardrobe. "I... I didn't hear you come in."
He didn't speak. He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward me. The space in the closet suddenly vanished. He seemed to consume all the oxygen in the room.
I was trembling now, visibly. His scent—that cedar and citrus—was suddenly suffocating, thick with his body heat.
He stopped inches away from me. I had to crane my neck to look at him. His face was unreadable, his green eyes dark and focused.
He reached past me. I flinched, but his hand went to the shelf behind my head.
He grabbed the velvet box.
"I'm sorry!" I squeaked, panic rising in my throat. "I didn't mean to touch it. I was getting the laundry and I bumped it and it fell. I put it back. I didn't mean to pry."
Damien looked at the box in his hand, then back at me. He held it out.
"Take it."
I blinked, genuinely confused. "What?"
"Take it," he repeated, his voice low.
I slowly reached out and took the box, my fingers brushing his. His skin was burning hot.
"Why?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Is it... for the laundry?"
"It is yours," he said calmly.
My jaw dropped. "Mine? I... I don't understand."
"You will," Damien said. His gaze dropped to the box in my hands, then traveled slowly up my body, lingering on my neck. "Very soon, you will be wearing it with your uniform."
The blood drained from my face. "I... I can't," I whispered. "That wasn't part of the deal. I can't wear that."
"Shh."
He stepped closer, eliminating the last inch of space between us. It wasn't romantic; it was a display of power.
"You will when you are ready."
He reached out. His large hand wrapped around the back of my neck. It wasn't a choke, but he held me firm, tilting my head back so I couldn't look away.
"Dove," he murmured, searching my eyes. "Do you know why I picked you for this job?"
I shook my head, unable to speak. Tears of pure fear gathered in my eyes and spilled over.
He wiped a tear away with his thumb, his expression darkening.
"Because I saw you," he said, his voice a rough whisper against my skin. "And I thought of all the dirty things I'd like to do to you."