MY VIRGIN MAID

The security gate hissed open with a low mechanical hum as Christina stepped through, clutching the strap of her handbag with both hands. It was her second day in Bryce Callahan's estate, and already she'd been given permission to run errands into the nearby town - a small act of trust. Or maybe a test.

Either way, she was determined to complete it perfectly.

As she walked through the iron gates on her way back in, the two men at the security booth turned toward her like magnets. Both wore sleek black uniforms, badges gleaming on their chests, and subtle smirks tugging at their lips.

The older one - tall, dark-haired, with eyes that lingered too long - stepped forward.

"Miss Lane," he said, pretending professionalism. "Back so soon?"

Christina smiled politely. "Mr. Callahan asked for the dry cleaning to be picked up before seven."

The other man, younger and broad-shouldered, didn't say a word - just kept his eyes fixed on her. Not her face, but her legs. The maid uniform she wore hugged her figure closely, especially in the late afternoon sun, where every curve seemed to glow with a soft golden outline.

"I have to say," the older one added, "you're a very beautiful woman."

Christina blinked. Her smile didn't fade, but it faltered a little. She wasn't used to being called beautiful. At the convent, no one even commented on her appearance. She'd spent years wearing shapeless dresses and keeping her head down in prayer. Here, in heels and silk, she felt like someone else entirely.

Still, she answered sweetly, unaware of the way his eyes traced the curve of her hips.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, then added, "That's kind of you."

He smiled wider, clearly pleased.

But she didn't notice the subtle, hungry look he gave her as she walked away.

---

Back inside the mansion, the quiet wrapped around her like velvet. Christina moved carefully through the hallways, the sound of her heels tapping softly across marble floors. She didn't know why her heart was beating faster. Was it the men? Their words?

Or was it the growing awareness in her own body... that she wasn't invisible anymore?

---

She returned to Bryce's study, where the dry cleaning hung now over her forearm. Three perfectly tailored black suits, all pressed and wrapped in plastic. She knocked softly.

"Come in."

His voice, always low and powerful, made her stomach flutter.

She stepped inside.

Bryce was seated behind his desk, shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled halfway to his forearms. He was holding a glass of whiskey in one hand and reviewing a series of papers with the other. He didn't look up until she placed the suits over the wooden coat rack in the corner.

"Did they give you any trouble?" he asked.

"No, Bryce. The cleaners had it ready."

He finally lifted his gaze, locking eyes with her.

"You walked there alone?"

"Yes."

"And the men at the gate? Did they say anything to you?"

She hesitated. The compliment came to mind - but she didn't want to seem dramatic.

"One of them said I was..." beautiful," she answered, unsure.

Bryce's jaw tensed. He leaned back in his chair slowly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

"And what did you say?"

"I thanked him. I thought he meant it kindly."

His brows rose slightly - like he was amused and irritated at once.

"And you think men like that offer kindness for free?"

Christina's lips parted, confused.

"I... I don't know."

"No," Bryce said, voice quieter now, but harder. "You don't."

He stood up, glass still in hand, and walked toward her. Every step echoed.

"You still think this is the convent. Those words are just words. But you need to understand something, Christina..." His voice dipped lower, darker. "A woman like you doesn't walk unnoticed."

She swallowed hard.

"I didn't mean to-"

"I didn't say it was your fault."

He reached out and took a slow, deliberate strand of her hair between his fingers, twisting it gently. Her breath caught.

"I said you need to understand your effect."

---

He let go, turned, and walked back to the window overlooking the grounds.

"I'll speak to security," he muttered. "You don't need extra eyes on you when you're already wearing that uniform."

She looked down at herself, suddenly aware of how short it really was.

Was that why they stared?

Bryce's voice cut through her thoughts again.

"You'll change after dinner. Put on something more... neutral."

She nodded. "Yes, Bryce."

But in her chest, something stirred. It's not embarrassment.

Something heavier. Warmer.

His fingers had touched her hair - just a second - but she could still feel the heat of it lingering against her scalp.

---

That evening, she bathed slowly. The water in the deep soaking tub was scented with oils she didn't know the names of. She'd never felt this kind of softness against her skin before. The silk robe she changed into afterward was far too luxurious for someone like her. The neckline dipped slightly - not low, but enough.

She walked past a mirror in the hallway and paused.

The girl reflected back wasn't the convent girl anymore.

She was... something else now.

Still quiet. It's still pure.

But her body was waking up.

---

She entered the dining room with her eyes slightly downcast, as she'd been trained - but Bryce was already watching her.

"You're late," he said.

"I'm sorry. I was finishing my bath."

He gestured to the chair beside him again.

As she sat, his hand rested briefly on the back of her chair - a silent signal of possession.

---

Dinner was quieter than the night before.

But the tension wasn't.

Every motion she made - the way she brought the glass to her lips - the way she crossed her legs - seemed to earn his gaze.

"Did you wear the perfume I left on your dresser?" he asked suddenly.

She blinked.

"Yes, Bryce. I saw it this afternoon. I thought..."

"I wanted to see if it matched your skin."

Her face flushed.

"Did it?"

He leaned in slightly, taking in her scent.

His voice was like a low growl now.

"Too sweet," he whispered. "Too innocent."

Then he leaned back again, as if he hadn't just melted the bones in her body.

---

That night, as she returned to her room, her legs felt heavier than usual.

Not from fatigue.

But from the weight of his voice.

The way his eyes had made her feel...

Wanted. But also... I watched.

And that scared her more than anything.

Because the one man she thought she'd be safe with - the one who should've been too powerful to notice her - was noticing her too much.

And Christina?

She didn't know if she wanted him to stop.