Maid for my ruthless step sister, In her husband's bed

Alexandra’s POV

My heart felt like it was ripping into a million pieces as my stepmother gave me the news.

“When Kara gets married, you will live in her home and work as a maid,” she said whilst she drew a cup of tea to her mouth and sipped.

My real mother had died when I was born, so I never met her. My father wasn't rich, but he wasn't poor either. He did his best to make me happy until the day he married Agatha.

I was fourteen years old at the time. Young and naive, I believed I would finally experience the love of a mother. She pretended to be nice in Father's presence, but she wasn't when he wasn't around. I saw through her.

Her real colors showed when Father died two years later; after his burial, she turned me into a slave in my own home. At sixteen years old I worked like an adult; I would clean the whole house, cook, and even do laundry.

I distinctly remember the day Agatha smashed a glass plate on the ground and made me kneel on it just because she didn't like my cooking.

Kara was my stepsister; we were the same age. While I worked like a maid, she got to experience a normal life and be loved.

Weeks ago I heard that Kara was getting married to a wealthy CEO. It was an arranged marriage. Somehow Agatha had managed to convince the CEO’s parents that Kara was a good fit.

The wedding would be happening in three days, and I was still yet to meet him. Kara, on the other hand, wouldn't stop talking about how handsome and amazing he was. But after both knees, they were only after his wealth. Poor guy.

“Aunt Agatha “I’m not a maid,” my voice trembled as I spoke. If I angered her, I would get scars all over, but I had to speak up. It was bad enough being a maid for her, but now her daughter?

Agatha's brow furrowed, a wrinkle formed in the corner of her eyes, and she asked, “What did you just say?” She stood up from her seat.

I took a step back. “I'm my father's daughter as well. Why do I have to be a maid to Kara? I should get a chance to live my own life,” my voice shook.

She walked towards me, sucking in a deep breath. She landed a stinging slap on my face. “You ungrateful girl!” she spat.

“Your father died with nothing to his name. I could have kicked you out to the streets, but I was so kind to keep you here. I clothe you, I feed you—all you have to do is work for me, and you complain?!” She landed another slap, and tears gathered in my eyes.

She grabbed the back of my blond hair and tugged on it. “Look into my eyes, Alexandra. You are an orphan; you are not my daughter, and I am not your mother. I accommodate you, and you have to work as a maid in return.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks.

“If you do not want to work for me, you can get out; let’s see how you survive in the streets alone.”

I swallowed and wiped the tears from my cheeks as her hand moved away from my hair. “The Michealsons are wealthy, so they have multiple attendants, but you are a familiar face. Kara has never been away from home before and could use your presence.”

She paused to watch my expression. “If you can't work for her, you can get out into the streets,” she said with a stern look on her face. She turned and began to head upstairs.

My heart tightened; after all these years of torture, it just now dawned on me that my life meant nothing to them. I couldn't leave; I had no money or place to live.

“I'll do it!” I shouted.

I turned around to face her; her grey eyes grew wide, gazing at me. “You'll do what?”

“I'll work as a maid for Kara.”

An evil smile tugged at her lips. “Good, pack your bags; one of the Michaelson drivers will come here and pick you up by 6:00pm.”

My brows pinched together in confusion. “But they are getting married in three days; Kara shouldn’t go yet.”

Her face twisted in frustration, “Just you. I want you there three days ahead so that you can help clean Kara's bedroom, fold her clothes neatly in her closet, and make sure the other attendants know what she likes.”

I bowed my head slightly, “Of course, Agatha.”

A proud smile tugged at her lips. “Kara and the Michealson's son are spending the next few days together at his grandparents' home to familiarize themselves; you will only see her or Mr. Michaelson after the wedding.”

I nodded. “Yes, ma'am.”

She began to walk upstairs.

I turned and headed towards my bedroom door to pack; it used to be my father's old storage room, but Agatha had made it my bedroom when he died.

As I reached for the doorknob, her voice came again, “You don't have to attend the wedding.”

I turned to face her.

“You will wait for Kara to move into the Michealson's house; I do not think a presence like yours is needed,” her brow raised, “Don't go, agree?”

I nodded, “Yes, Agatha," I responded in a low tone.

I retire into my bedroom and slip into bed. My back aches from doing all the housework. The bed was not as soft as I would like, but it was what I got, so I had to take it.

Hours later, a black Cadillac had come to pick me up. It was the first time I ever experienced such luxury; we arrived at the destination minutes later. It was a mansion three times the size of my home.

House attendants filled the compound; they were either trimming the bushes or watering the gardens, and some even cleaned the windows.

I looked into the main house; maids dressed in a black gown and a white apron appropriate for a maid walked around the place.

“This way, ma'am,” the driver, a man in his middle fifties, gestured to me. I looked at the place he gestured at; it was a whole mansion away from the main one. “This is Mr. Salvatore’s side of the mansion; you will work here.”

I nodded. “Thank you, sir,” I said as we began to work towards the house.

Would this place be better or worse than Aunt Agatha’s?

I was shown a bedroom downstairs to settle in; it was bigger than my old room, and the bed definitely was softer. The bed was located on the right corner of the room, and on it lay my maid uniform.

I tried it on, and it was exactly my size. The black knee-length gown showed my curves from the waist up, while the waist down was flared.

I quickly took off the dress and folded it and placed it on a seat; I would start working in the morning and wouldn't need it now.

As I moved back to bed to retire for the day, I heard a loud crash.

My brow raised.

Nobody was supposed to be in the mansion for three days; the driver had said so himself.

Suddenly there was another crash.

I quickly slipped on my slides, wrapped my hair up in a ponytail, and walked out to see, my brow raised as I saw a man in the kitchen, bent over broken glass as he picked it up.

His hair was dark brown, and it fell on his forehead; he had on a black hoodie and a pair of blue jeans.

“Who are you?” I asked.

He looked startled, his brow raised as he saw me. “Who are you?” He stood up to face me. “Nobody is supposed to be here.”

I took a cautious step back.

Has this strange man broken into this house?