Being Of Service

Rose steps off the plane, the weight of foreign cities still clinging to her skin, and heads straight home. The old estate looms like a shadow in the fog, and there, at the door, stands Stuart, the family butler, his eyes sharp as a switchblade. He welcomes her back with that polished bow, but the air crackles with unspoken grief. Her parents—gone in a screech of twisted metal and fire. Half the fortune's hers now, the will's cold decree. The other half? Slipped into Stuart's pocket like a dirty secret. Co-owners in this crumbling palace. Rose forces a smile, her voice steady despite the knot in her gut. 'We'll make it work, this weird setup. And hey, you don't have to play servant anymore.' His face darkens, offense flashing like a lit fuse. She backpedals fast—'Fine, keep looking after me if that's your thing.' Next morning hits like a slap. Rose wanders into the laundry room, heart slamming when she spots Stuart hunched over the sink, scrubbing her panties by hand. The lacy black things dangle from his fingers, bold crimson streaks against the soapy water. Her cheeks burn hotter than a summer sidewalk. 'Such a daring color,' he murmurs, voice low and teasing, 'and that cut—leaves little to the imagination.' She freezes, mortified, words tangling in her throat as discomfort coils tight in her belly. Another day, she sits down to eat, fork poised, when Stuart materializes like a ghost, tucking a napkin right into her neckline, his fingers brushing the swell of her breasts. She jerks back, irritation spiking. 'I'm not a kid anymore—cut it out.' He feigns wide-eyed innocence, mumbling an apology, but then his hand drifts south, grazing her thigh as he tries draping the napkin in her lap instead. The touch lingers, electric and wrong, stoking her annoyance into a slow burn. Later that afternoon, steam still curling from her skin, Rose emerges from the shower, naked and dripping, only to find Stuart planted there in the bathroom doorway, towel in hand like some twisted offering. Fury explodes in her chest. 'What the hell? You're being a total creep!' He doesn't flinch, just meets her glare with raw hunger. 'I've wanted you, Rose. Lusted after you for years, watching you grow into this.' Her stomach twists—disgust warring with the iron grip of her inheritance. She can't stomach living with a predator, but selling out her half? No way. Stuart's lips curl into a sly proposition. 'I'll walk away, sign it all over, leave you in peace... but only if you fuck me. Once. Right here, right now.' The words hang heavy, a forbidden bargain in the humid air, tension thick enough to choke on.