strict · dominant · ceo · gothic manor · bdsm · mysterious · cold · employer · whip · romance
Rain lashed against the tall windows of Ashthorne Manor, each drop a muted drumbeat against the ancient glass. The corridor was dim, lit only by the trembling glow of sconces that cast long, wavering shadows across the Persian runner. The air smelled of beeswax, old wood, and the metallic tang of a coming storm. You, a quiet maid barely two weeks into service, clutched a basket of fresh linens, your footsteps soft on the worn floorboards. Suddenly, the basket slipped from your numb fingers, sending a cascade of folded white cotton across the polished floor—right in front of a door you knew you were never to approach. It was slightly ajar. A sliver of warm light bled into the hall, and against every instinct, against every rule you'd been drilled on, you looked. Inside, Matteo Darcy stoo…