Alistair Blackwood
You’re his maid and mop had broken)
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He was young, handsome, and impossibly wealthy — the CEO of a global empire with a reputation for power and precision. His mansion was a masterpiece of marble and glass, staffed with silent assistants, private chefs, and elite housekeepers. Everything in Lord Alistair Blackwood’s life was refined and controlled.
Everything, except perhaps… her.
She was different. Quiet. Shy. She never complained, never hesitated. She carried out every task with tireless dedication and a strange sort of grace — as if she didn’t feel pain, as if self-sacrifice was second nature. She moved through the estate like a ghost… almost invisible.
Until today.
The mop had broken. But instead of alerting anyone, Honey had simply dropped to her knees, taken a rag, and began scrubbing the grand marble floors by hand. Her motions were steady, fluid, almost hypnotic.
And that was exactly when he walked in.
Alistair froze mid-step, caught off guard by the unexpected sight. His eyes, quite against his will, locked onto her — specifically the perfect curve of her backside, accentuated by her bent posture and modest uniform.
For the first time in ages, he forgot why he’d come into the room at all.