The Maid's Deception-Chapter 11 - 10: His Bedroom

Aria stood outside Damien Blackwood’s bedroom suite at exactly 6:58 AM, her heart hammering against her ribs.

She’d dressed with extra care this morning made sure her uniform was perfectly pressed, her hair pulled back in a neat bun, not a single detail out of place. She needed to look professional, competent, forgettable.

Even though every instinct screamed that Damien Blackwood would never find her forgettable.

Stop it, she commanded herself. ’’You’re here to clean his room. That’s all. This is just another assignment.’’

But her hands were shaking slightly as she checked her phone. 6:59 AM.

At exactly 7:00, she knocked on the door.

"Come in."

His voice was rougher than usual, still heavy with sleep, and something about that intimacy made her stomach flip.

Aria pushed open the door and stepped into Damien Blackwood’s private sanctuary.

The master suite was enormous easily the size of her entire apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the eastern gardens, morning light flooding the space with gold. The color scheme was masculine and elegant deep charcoals and navy blues, accents of silver. A sitting area with leather furniture occupied one corner. A door that probably led to a bathroom. Another door closet, maybe?

And dominating the room: a massive king-size bed with dark gray linens.

Where Damien currently sat against the headboard, shirtless, laptop balanced on his thighs, looking like every fantasy Aria had never let herself have.

She froze in the doorway, her brain short-circuiting.

He was... Jesus Christ, he was beautiful. Not in a soft way, but in a way that spoke of power and discipline. Broad shoulders leading to a defined chest, muscles that suggested regular workouts without being bulky. The kind of body that came from genetic luck and dedicated maintenance.

And those eyes—still sharp despite the early hour fixed on her with that same unnerving intensity.

"Ms. Mitchell." He didn’t move, didn’t close the laptop, just watched her stand there like an idiot. "Right on time again. I appreciate consistency."

"I " Her voice came out scratchy. She cleared her throat. "Good morning, sir. I’m here to prepare your room for the day."

"So I see." He finally closed the laptop and set it aside on the nightstand. "Mrs. Chen briefed you on my preferences?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. The bathroom needs to be restocked fresh towels, toiletries. The bed needs to be made, obviously." His lips quirked slightly. "Though you’ll have to wait for me to vacate it first."

"Of course."

He made no move to get up. Just sat there, watching her, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

"I also need my clothes for today prepared," he continued. "Charcoal suit the Tom Ford, not the Armani. White dress shirt, navy tie, black oxfords. Everything should be laid out on the bed once you’ve made it."

Aria’s mind raced. Laid out on the bed meant she’d need access to his closet. Which meant seeing his personal space, understanding the layout, potentially finding access points to other areas.

This was good. This was opportunity.

So why did it feel like walking into a trap?

"Understood, sir. Should I start with the bathroom while you"

"No." He stood in one fluid motion, and Aria’s breath caught.

He was wearing only silk pajama pants that rode low on his hips, revealing a V of muscle that disappeared beneath the waistband. Her eyes followed the line before she could stop herself, then snapped back to his face.

He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed. That slight smile was back, knowing and dangerous.

"I need to shower," he said, moving toward what she now confirmed was the bathroom door. "You can start with the bedroom. Make the bed, dust, whatever else Mrs. Chen told you needs doing. I’ll be about twenty minutes."

He disappeared into the bathroom, and a moment later she heard water running.

Aria stood frozen for a long moment, trying to get her body under control. Trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person instead of someone who’d just seen a half-naked god walking around like it was nothing.

Focus, she commanded herself. You’re here to work. To establish yourself as trustworthy. To learn the layout.

She got to work, stripping the bed linens with practiced efficiency. The sheets were high-thread-count Egyptian cotton, probably worth more than her monthly rent. She folded them carefully and set them aside for laundry.

As she worked, her eyes catalogued everything. The room’s layout. The windows locked from the inside, probably alarmed. The sitting area with a bookshelf holding what looked like first editions. A desk in the corner with a closed laptop and papers neatly stacked.

The closet door was slightly ajar. She could see inside rows of suits, shirts organized by color, shoes lined up with military precision.

Everything about this room spoke of control. Order. A man who maintained rigid discipline in every aspect of his life.

Just like her.

The thought was unsettling.

She was making the bed with fresh linens when the bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam.

Damien emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else, his hair damp and dripping water down his chest.

Aria’s hands froze on the duvet.

"Don’t let me interrupt," he said casually, walking to his closet like it was completely normal to be nearly naked in front of staff. "Continue with your work."

Continue with your work while he’s right there, water sliding down those abs, that towel barely holding on.....

"Yes, sir," she managed, forcing her attention back to the bed.

She could hear him moving around in the closet. The slide of hangers. The rustle of fabric.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t....

"Ms. Mitchell, could you come here for a moment?"

Her stomach dropped. "Sir?"

"I need your opinion on something."

She had no choice. She walked to the closet entrance, keeping her eyes carefully on his face and nowhere else.

Damien stood there in dress pants thankfully holding up two ties. One navy, one charcoal gray.

"Which one?" he asked.

"I... I thought you specified navy, sir?"

"I did. But now I’m reconsidering." He held them up against a white shirt hanging nearby. "What do you think? From an aesthetic perspective?"

This felt like a test. But for what?

Aria studied the ties, forcing herself to actually focus on the question. "The navy creates more contrast. It’s bold, confident. The charcoal is more subtle, blends with the suit. Depends on the impression you want to make."

"And what impression do you think I want to make?"

She met his eyes. "That you’re someone who doesn’t need to try. That your competence speaks for itself."

Something flickered in his expression. "Interesting assessment. So which tie?"

"The charcoal."

He smiled a real smile this time, not just that slight curve of his lips. "Good choice. You can go. I’ll finish dressing."