Under The Opulent Roof
When Elena Blake becomes a housemaid in the cold, grand Harrington mansion, she expects nothing more than long hours and strict rules.
What she doesn't expect is him-
Adrian Harrington, the billionaire who has forgotten how to feel anything... until her trembling voice and stubborn courage slip beneath his armor.
He's cold.
He's broken.
He's forbidden.
Yet the longer Elena works beneath his roof, the more she becomes the one thing he can't ignore.
But the mansion keeps secrets.
A locked left wing.
A dead fiancée.
A jealous brother.
An arranged marriage Adrian cannot refuse.
And Elena?
She's just the housemaid-
the girl no one is supposed to see.
But Adrian sees her.
Wants her.
Would burn the world to keep her.
Until one night, a secret from the mansion's past threatens to tear them apart...
And Elena realizes:
loving a billionaire comes with a price she may not survive.
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Chapter 3
Elena woke earlier than usual.
Her body was still adjusting to the mansion's silence-no clattering pans, no neighbors shouting, no generators humming. Just cold marble floors, wide hallways, and the weight of expectations sitting on her chest like a brick.
She quickly wore the uniform Mrs. Marlene had laid out. Simple, neat, black-and-white. Nothing like the colorful prints she wore at home.
She tied her hair, inhaled deeply, and stepped into the hallway.
Mrs. Marlene was waiting.
"Good. You're punctual," the older woman said without smiling. "Come. You must learn the rules of the house before Mr. Harrington wakes."
Elena followed her as they walked down a long corridor lined with tasteful paintings-expensive, serious, and void of warmth.
"The staff begin their day at 6:00 a.m.," Mrs. Marlene said. "Breakfast is served for Mr. Harrington at exactly 7:15. Not a minute sooner, not a minute later. He hates disruptions."
"He sounds..." Elena paused, searching for a word that wasn't intimidating.
"Particular," Mrs. Marlene finished.
That wasn't the word Elena wanted, but she nodded.
Mrs. Marlene continued, "Mr. Harrington values privacy. More than you can imagine." She stopped walking and turned to Elena. "So, listen carefully."
Elena straightened. "Yes, ma'am."
"There are areas of the house you are not allowed to enter. Ever."
Elena blinked. "Ever?"
"Ever," Mrs. Marlene repeated. "The first is the East Wing. No cleaning. No dusting. No wandering. Not even passing through."
Elena frowned. "But... why?"
"Because those are the rules."
That wasn't an answer.
It was an order wrapped in mystery.
Mrs. Marlene moved on before Elena could ask more.
"The second rule: Never approach Mr. Harrington unless he initiates the conversation. He dislikes idle chatter. Don't stare at him. He finds it invasive."
Elena felt her cheeks warm.
How were you supposed to work for someone without ever... looking at them?
"The third rule," Mrs. Marlene said, lowering her voice, "Never-under any circumstance-enter the master bedroom."
Elena almost choked. "Why would I enter the master bedroom?"
"People... get curious," Mrs. Marlene said with a knowing tone. "This job pays double what the agency normally offers. And that is because this household has no space for curiosity."
Elena pressed her lips together.
"I understand," she said.
Mrs. Marlene studied her for a moment-long enough to make Elena shift in place-then nodded.
"Good. Come, you'll start with the library."
They walked again.
"You're replacing someone," Mrs. Marlene said.
Elena's steps faltered. "Replacing? What happened to the last maid?"
Mrs. Marlene's expression tightened.
"She left abruptly."
That was all she said.
But her tone said there was more.
Much more.
They reached the library-floor-to-ceiling shelves, a chandelier, and an enormous window overlooking the gardens. It was beautiful in a cold, intimidating way.
Mrs. Marlene handed Elena a small list.
"Dust the shelves, clean the surfaces, wipe the glass. Quietly. Mr. Harrington often works in the study next to this room. Do not make noise."
Elena swallowed. "Okay."
"And Elena..."
She glanced up.
Mrs. Marlene lowered her voice.
"Do not open the door connecting the library to the East Wing. The last maid didn't listen. Don't make the same mistake."
Elena turned slowly.
A single door stood at the far end of the library.
Old.
Dark.
Out of place.
Her heart kicked.
Mrs. Marlene walked away, leaving her alone in the vast room.
Elena exhaled, grabbing a microfiber cloth.
She leaned close to the first shelf...
And froze.
Because from the direction of the East Wing door...
A soft sound echoed.
A faint, dragging whisper.
Like something being moved across the floor.
Or someone.
Elena stepped back, panic prickling her spine.
The noise stopped.
Silence returned.
Then-
Click.
The library door opened behind her.
She spun around-
And there he was.
Adrian Harrington.
Tall. Sharp . Cold.
Dressed in perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his hair still wet from a morning shower, his expression unreadable.
His eyes locked unto Elena.
The room felt smaller.
The air heavier.
He didn't blink.
Didn't smile.
Didn't look away.
And when he finally spoke...
His voice was low and dangerous.
''You''
Elena's knees nearly buckled.
''What were you doing near that door?''
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7.6
To pay for her father's life support, Haleigh sold herself into a marriage with Fabian Blackburn, a ruthless billionaire in a deep coma.
But on her wedding day, she caught her boyfriend cheating with her stepsister, laughing about how they would steal the inheritance the second Fabian stopped breathing. Cornered and desperate, Haleigh secretly underwent IVF using her comatose husband's frozen sperm to secure the family trust.
Weeks later, a miracle happened. Fabian woke up.
But instead of gratitude, he treated her like trash. He threw annulment papers at her face, completely disgusted by the arranged marriage.
"If you try any dirty tricks to get pregnant, I will personally drag you to a clinic and have that bastard scraped out of you."
Terrified, Haleigh hid her positive pregnancy test and desperately tried to hack her way to enough cash to escape. But while using his computer, she accidentally opened a highly classified folder.
Inside was a medical file and a photo of a severely disabled girl who looked exactly like Fabian.
Before she could process it, Fabian walked in. Seeing the screen, his cold mask shattered into pure, unhinged madness. He lunged across the room, lifting her off the floor by her throat, completely ignoring her desperate gasps for air.
"Lock her in the basement," he roared to his guards. "No food. No water."
Curled on the freezing concrete, clutching her newly pregnant belly, Haleigh didn't understand what she had just seen that turned him into a murderous monster.
But she knew one thing: if she didn't escape this terrifying estate, both she and his unborn heir would die in the dark.
7.3
Elara Valente has lived her life under her father's control, a mafia princess trapped in luxury. But when she meets Luca, a humble baker who sees her for who she truly is, her world begins to change.
Secret meetings, stolen moments, and forbidden attraction ignite a slow-burning romance-but danger lurks at every turn. With a strict father, an arranged marriage, and watchful cousins, Elara must choose: follow her heart, or obey the world she was born into.
7.9
Valerie Ashford, a girl who had just turned twenty-one, was introduced by her father to his business associates at a grand party, where she met a frightening, cold-blooded man.
That man was none other than her father's business partner, the CEO of a major corporation. He was taken with Valerie and had wanted her from the moment he first laid eyes on her.
For Rovano Morvane, whatever he desired was absolute and he had to have it, even by the worst means possible.
That night Valerie vanished without a trace and Rovano became the prime suspect, yet the Ashford family could not prove their allegations.
"P-please, I don't want to die, sir..." Valerie whispered so softly that Rovano had to bend down even lower.
"Didn't you just say you didn't care whether you were kidnapped or not? So shut your mouth." Rovano ordered.
Cold, Valerie felt the other side of the folding knife pressed against her cheek.
Rovano was going to mark Valerie.
It felt like something was missing if Rovano didn't take out his psychopathic urges on someone.
And this time, for the first time, he wanted a girl: Valerie Ashford.
Would Valerie's life end here?
8.8
Bella Danvers aka Isabella Powell is a 20-year-old college student who encountered the hot and ruthless CEO of the Rinaldi Corporation, Gabriel Rinaldi. They had a forgetful one-night stand that took a turn for the worst. Will he be able to find her before he is forced into an arranged marriage? Will she be able to tell him the news? Or will they be forced apart?
7.4
Alaya woke up in the sterile hospital room to a devastating reality: her six-month-old baby was gone, lost in a horrific car crash.
But as the memories crashed into her, she realized she had been reborn. She was back three years before her ultimate death, back to the moment she remembered lying bleeding on the asphalt while her husband, Hardy, shielded his mistress from the freezing rain.
When Hardy finally showed up at the ward, he coldly dismissed the crash as a mere accident and immediately left to comfort his young lover. To make matters worse, Alaya secretly checked her medical files and found a terrifying detail: someone had intentionally slipped beta-blockers into her system, a lethal drug for her transplanted heart. And Hardy didn't care about her dead baby or her irreversible infertility. He only coldly confirmed with the doctor that her heart was still viable.
A horrifying suspicion made Alaya's blood run cold. Why was her husband so obsessed with protecting her transplanted heart while treating her like garbage? And why was his perfectly healthy mistress secretly racking up massive bills at an advanced cardiac hospital?
Realizing she was nothing but a vessel in a twisted, deadly game, Alaya didn't shed another tear.
She packed her belongings, left her flawless diamond wedding ring on the cold marble table, and vanished from their penthouse.
When Hardy finally tracked her down, she threw a thick stack of documents onto the table.
"Sign the divorce papers," she said, her eyes completely dead.
7.3
Tonight was supposed to be the night I became the happiest woman in D.C., celebrating my engagement at the legendary Bolton Manor gala. I wore emerald silk and a diamond that cost more than most mansions, convinced that Hank Bolton was my soulmate and the key to my family's future.
But behind the heavy oak doors of the guest wing, the dream died. I found my fiancé tangled with another woman, laughing about how I was nothing more than a "clueless cash cow" whose inheritance would fund his run for the Senate.
In my first life, I reacted with tears and screams, which only allowed his family to paint me as an unstable lunatic. They stripped me of my dignity, bankrupted the Adams estate, and watched coldly as my brother, Lucas, died in a ditch trying to save me. I ended up gasping for air in a burning building, realizing too late that my perfect engagement was actually my execution.
I died in the soot and the shadows, feeling the searing heat of a betrayal that burned worse than the fire. I lost everything because I was too blind to see the monsters hiding behind expensive smiles.
But then, I suddenly gasped for air and realized the smoke was gone. I was standing in front of a vanity, the calendar mocking me: October 14th. The night of the gala. I had been given a second chance, and this time, I wasn't going to be the victim.
I recorded the betrayal on my phone and walked into the library with a heart made of ice. I didn't just blow up the engagement; I demanded a new groom—Hank’s "invalid" older brother, Dereck, a man the world had written off as a dying recluse.
"I'll take him," I told the stunned family. I wanted a husband who couldn't cheat, a puppet who would leave me a wealthy widow within a year.
I thought I was choosing a safe, broken man to shield me from my enemies. I didn't know that under his blanket, Dereck was hiding a holster, or that the "dying" man was actually a predator who had been waiting for someone exactly like me to walk into his trap.