Chapter 1: Unwelcome Company

Ethan Miller stared out of the massive arched window of his family's estate, watching as his parents' sleek black SUV rolled down the long, winding driveway. The gravel crunched under the tires, a sound that grated on his nerves. They hadn't even looked back. Not a wave. Not a smile. Just gone.

"Enjoy the peace and quiet," his father had said, straightening his tie before their departure. His mother had barely glanced up from her phone. "Don't make trouble, Ethan. We'll be back in a month."

A month. Thirty whole days. Four weeks of absolute isolation. His friends were off skiing in Aspen, and he'd declined the invitation, expecting his parents would need him for some dreary charity event or board meeting. Instead, they'd chosen a month-long Mediterranean cruise, leaving him behind like an afterthought.

He turned from the window, his jaw tight. The grand foyer, with its gilded mirrors and pristine marble floors, felt suffocating. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts, but the ache of abandonment dulled his interest in company.

His stomach growled, and he made his way to the kitchen, passing through the empty halls. He pushed open the swinging door, and there she was.

Sarah Brooks.

She stood by the kitchen island, unpacking groceries with swift, practiced movements. Her dark hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and she wore a simple blue t-shirt and jeans. Her presence felt like an intrusion, a reminder that his parents didn't trust him enough to be alone.

"Oh, you're here," he said, his tone flat.

Sarah looked up, her expression neutral. "Yes, Mr. Miller."

"It's Ethan," he corrected, leaning against the doorframe. "Mr. Miller's my father."

She nodded, continuing her task. "Would you like something to eat?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you planning to feed me like a child?"

Her hands stilled, and she looked at him directly, a hint of defiance in her green eyes. "I'm here to do my job. If you don't need anything, I have work to do."

He didn't respond, and after a beat, she resumed unpacking. The silence stretched, uncomfortable and heavy.

Ethan pushed off the doorframe and opened the fridge, scanning its contents. Everything looked too green, too healthy—his mother's influence. He grabbed a can of soda and a leftover slice of pizza, cold and hard. He bit into it, the crust snapping unpleasantly.

"Would you like me to heat that up?" Sarah asked.

"No." He took another defiant bite, chewing slowly.

Sarah said nothing, continuing to organize the pantry. Her movements were efficient, precise. She'd been working for the Millers for only a month, hired after their longtime housekeeper retired. Unlike the others, she was young—too young, in Ethan's opinion. Barely out of high school, if that.

He watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "How old are you?"

She paused, her hand gripping a can of soup. "Nineteen."

"Barely legal," he muttered.

Her back straightened, and she turned to face him. "Is there something you need, Ethan?"

Her tone had a sharp edge, and for a moment, he almost admired it. Almost. "Yeah. Space."

She stared at him, then nodded, setting down the can. "I'll be in the laundry room if you need anything." She walked past him, her shoulders squared, leaving behind a faint scent of vanilla and lavender.

Ethan watched her go, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. This month might not be as dull as he thought.

Sarah closed the laundry room door behind her, exhaling slowly. Her hands trembled, and she gripped the edge of the washing machine until the metal bit into her skin. She wasn't here to make friends—or enemies, for that matter.

When Mrs. Miller had interviewed her, the woman had seemed almost too relieved to find someone with a clean record and a strong work ethic. "We need someone reliable," she'd said, her manicured fingers wrapped around a crystal glass of something amber and expensive. "Someone who won't be a distraction."

Sarah had understood what she meant. The Millers had a reputation—wealthy, powerful, and constantly scrutinized. They needed someone invisible, someone who would keep their house running smoothly without making waves.

She wasn't here to prove anything to Ethan. She needed this job. Her mom's medical bills weren't going to pay themselves, and college was a distant dream she couldn't afford yet. She had to focus.

The dryer beeped, and she opened it, pulling out a load of soft, warm towels. She folded them methodically, each corner meeting perfectly, her movements almost mechanical. It helped to focus on the small things—the crisp fold of a towel, the hum of the machines—rather than the fact that she was essentially a babysitter for a grown man.

A knock on the door jolted her, and she turned to find Ethan leaning against the doorframe, his expression inscrutable.

"Do you always hide in the laundry room?" he asked.

She met his gaze evenly. "Do you always lurk in doorways?"

His lips twitched, the hint of a smile. "Touché." He stepped into the room, looking around. "You like it in here?"

"It's quiet."

He leaned against the washer, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. "You're not afraid of me, are you?"

"Should I be?"

His smile widened, a flash of white teeth. "Most people are."

"I'm not most people."

They stood in silence, the dryer's hum filling the space between them. For a moment, neither moved, neither spoke.

Ethan broke the silence, his voice softer than before. "Why'd you take this job, anyway?"

Sarah hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of a towel. "I needed it."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting."

He chuckled, a low sound. "Fair enough." He straightened, his expression closing off. "Well, don't let me keep you."

She watched him go, her pulse quickening. The weight of his presence lingered long after he'd left, a shadow in the quiet room.

Sarah finished folding the towels, each movement deliberate, precise. She would stay focused. She had to.

But as she carried the warm stack through the halls, the memory of Ethan's smile followed her, uninvited and unsettling.