Cassian
There is something undeniably challenging about leaving everything behind to start all over again.
At thirty-two, I had already achieved more than enough. For most of my life, things had been about survival. I didn’t rely on family handouts, I simply climbed my way to success.
Growing up, I learned early that nobody was going to help you through success. If you wanted freedom and respect, you had to take it yourself. My return to New York was never really part of the plan, but when an old favor opened up a position in the university’s art department, I saw that as an opportunity to start all over.
Starting fresh was one thing, but managing a house this large on my own was another. Between the full time schedule, I knew I needed help. So late last night, I put up an online listing for a live-in housekeeper. I didn’t expect someone to apply barely ten minutes after posting. And I definitely didn’t expect the applicant to be her. The girl my brother took in years ago.
The last time I saw her was seven years back. She had been young, quiet, and smart. And seeing her sitting in my lecture hall today had my mind wandering straight to places it had no business visiting. She had grown into a striking, breathtakingly beautiful woman.
I still didn’t know whether it was pure curiosity or maybe because I needed someone trustworthy which made me double the pay and accept her without wasting a single second.
The sharp chime of the doorbell broke through the quiet villa, echoing softly down the empty hallway. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes to five. She was early.
I set my coffee mug down on the kitchen counter. Pushed my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants, and walked out of the kitchen, my footsteps measured a slow, unhurried pace across the dark hardwood floor.
Through the frosted glass panel beside the entryway, I could make out the small, tense silhouette waiting on the porch.
I reached for the lock. The click of the deadbolt sounded loud in the stillness. I pulled the heavy oak door open meeting wide, stunned eyes. She froze on the porch, her lips slightly parted as she stared at me in pure, unfiltered disbelief.
I took my time looking her over from head to toe. Up close, away from the crowded lecture hall, her features were even softer. Her skin looked impossibly smooth and pure, with a faint, nervous flush already creeping up her neck. She stood there stiffly, blinking in shock.
The corner of my lips lifted into a slight smirk. "Are you going to stand there staring?"
My voice seemed to snap her right out of it. She blinked, the color rushing to her face in an embarrassed heat. "Umm... I am... sorry, sir," she stammered, shifting nervously on her feet. "B-but... are you the person who wanted a live-in housekeeper?"
I gave a slight shake of my head at how flustered she was, choosing not to answer the obvious question. "Come in," I said calmly, leaving the front door open, listening as the quiet scuff of her shoes followed me across the threshold.
A soft click echoed through the foyer as she pulled the heavy door shut behind her.
She kept a few paces back, her steps slow and cautious, like someone terrified of making a wrong move. I walked into the spacious living area and stopped beside the dining table, turning around to face her.
She hesitated at the edge of the room, looking completely out of place. Her eyes darted around. Anywhere else but me.
What caught my attention, though, was her small bag. No suitcase.
Had she left Norman house? Did they sent her away? And most importantly does she not recognize me?
"You can put the bag down," I said.
Her gaze snapped back to mine, and the nervous flush on her cheeks deepened. "Right. Thank you...Sir."
I reached for the glass pitcher on the table, poured a glass of cold water, and slid it toward the empty stool across the island. "Sit down, Elvie. Let’s talk about the rules."
She set her small bag down gently near the legs of the stool and slid onto the seat, sitting on the very edge. Reaching out with both hands, she lifted the glass and took a tiny sip, clearly looking for something to do with her trembling fingers.
While I remained standing with my hands stuffed into my pockets. The earlier we set the rules, the better for the both of us. Because clearly it shows she wasn’t comfortable. Neither was I from having my eyes staring at her way too much.
I cleared my throat, snapping myself back and keeping my face neutral. "Your duties here are straightforward," I said.
"Keeping the common areas clean, running the dishwasher, basic upkeep. As for meals, you don’t have to cook every day. Just a few nights a week when your class schedule al-"
"I can cook every day," she cut me off looking up at me. "It’s really not hard. I’m used to it."
A sharp flare of irritation hit my chest. Why was she normalizing that? What the hell had been going on in that house?
"You are not cooking every day." I said my voice coming out far colder.
She flinched slightly at the sharpness in my tone, surprise flickering across her wide eyes.
I composed myself, reigning the irritation back in before continuing. "Second rule: the studio at the end of the upstairs hallway is strictly off-limits. You don’t go inside, and you don’t clean it. The rest of the house is open to you."
"And finally, what happens here stays here," I added. "On campus, I am Professor Reed, and you are my student. Nobody needs to know you live under my roof."
"Understood, sir."
Fuck. Why did she keep calling me that?
"Cassian."
She blinked at me, confused. "Huh?"
"Call me Cassian when we’re home," I said, holding her gaze until she looked away. "If there are no other questions, I’ll show you to your room."
She briefly nodded and stood up. I led the way up the staircase, her hesitant, light footsteps trailing a few paces behind. At the landing, I walked past the open view of the lower floor and stopped in front of the door at the far end of the hall, opposite my own.
"This is your room."
"Settle in. Don’t worry about dinner tonight there’s food in the fridge if you get hungry later. Just take the evening to rest."
The tight tension that had held her shoulders stiff since she came dropped a fraction. "Thank you, Cassian."
Hearing my name fall from her lips, soft, quiet, without the stammer sent a low, dangerous hum straight through my veins. It sounded far too intimate in the quiet of the hallway.
She stepped forward to take the door, her fingers reaching for the handle to pull it toward herself.
My hand was still resting on the cool brass. Her small, warm fingertips brushed directly across the back of my knuckles.
The contact was completely accidental, barely a graze of soft skin against mine, but a sudden jolt snapped through the air like static electricity. It was shockingly hot, a sharp pulse of heat that flared through my nerves and coiled heavy and tight in my chest.
Elvie recoiled as if she had just touched an open flame. She snatched her hand back, clutching her fingers tightly together.
A violent blush rushed up her neck, staining her pale cheeks crimson. The patch of skin where she had touched me burned, tingling with an electric warmth that tore straight through my composure. She looked so fragile standing there, making staying completely calm so fucking hard.
I forced my expression to remain carved. "Rest up," I said, my voice dropping an octave,"Tomorrow is a long day."
I let go of the handle, stepped back, and turned down the hall before the lingering heat on my skin could make me do something I’d regret.