Chapter 1

The rainy season had begun. Heavy raindrops struck the dry ground, and the small clouds of dust they raised disappeared as the rain grew stronger.

Tara Thayer held the last of the bedding covers tightly as she rushed through the downpour toward the villa. The sudden storm had given her no time to grab an umbrella.

Instead, she sprinted outside to rescue the sheets she had left drying in the open. Now, with the bedding safely inside, her clothes and hair were damp from the rain.

She looked out at the relentless rain and exhaled slowly. Even now, she could hardly believe what had happened—that she had somehow crossed into another world.

Only the day before, she had transmigrated into the villainess' body—a character from a story revolving around a pampered female lead. By the time she arrived, the original owner of the body had already died of a sudden illness in her room.

In this book, the female lead worked as a live-in housekeeper for a famous boy band. Her warmth and kindness gradually healed the four members, making her their beloved favorite.

The villainess held the same job, but her reputation couldn't have been more different. She'd shamelessly flirted with the boy band members, earning their utter disdain.

Later, consumed by jealousy over the female lead's bond with the men, the villainess repeatedly tried to sabotage her. Instead of succeeding, she only made the men more sympathetic toward the female lead.

In the end, they expelled the villainess from the villa. When her schemes were exposed, she became a hated figure, scorned by everyone.

Tara wanted to leave right then and there—to get away from the boy band and the female lead. But the original host's contract still had six months left, and she couldn't quit until then.

Breaking the contract early meant paying a massive penalty, and the original host hadn't been wealthy enough to afford it.

Tara was usually laid-back, but the thought of paying that fine made her think that she'd rather die again than deal with it. Left with no other option, she decided to keep the job.

She avoided the privileged boy band, limited her interactions with the female lead, and spoke only when necessary. If she remained cautious, she might just make it through these six months in one piece.

Heavy rain poured over the garden, the fierce wind driving slanted sheets of water. Despite it being midday, the sky was so dark that it seemed ready to split with lightning.

Footsteps approached from behind Tara. When she turned, she spotted a young woman in the same uniform gathering the bedding and walking past her into the villa without so much as a glance. It was as if speaking to her were a complete waste of time.

Tara knew that everyone in the villa disliked the original owner of this body. She gave the young woman's retreating figure a brief, indifferent look before examining her own damp uniform.

The black and white fabric was half-transparent where it clung to her fair skin. Her exposed legs looked softly luminous in the dim light.

Tara adjusted the wet hem of her skirt. She'd have to go back to her room and change. She couldn't work like this, soaked to the skin.

She had taken just a few steps toward the right side of the first floor when hurried footsteps sounded from the entrance.

Gemma Wolpert, the manager, called out sharply, "Tara, come help."

Without waiting for a reply, Gemma turned and rushed back outside, her face and movements tense with urgency. Tara reluctantly followed Gemma, her uniform still uncomfortably damp.

Outside, the earlier downpour had lightened to a drizzle. The villa's garden, vibrant and rain-soaked, looked almost dreamy in the mist, but Tara had no time to appreciate it.

A luxury van was parked at the entrance. Gemma pulled the door open, and two assistants stepped out, their expressions strained as they struggled to support a tall, drunken man between them.

Even together, they could barely keep his unsteady, six-foot-two-inch frame upright. Gemma grew visibly impatient as she watched the assistants falter.

"Stop standing around. Help us get Lance to his room," she ordered, gesturing for Tara to step in.

Tara didn't want to touch Lance Swain, but at that moment, she had no choice but to help carry him inside. When she saw the others holding Lance by the arms, she stepped behind him. Her hands hesitated as she wondered how she was meant to help in that situation.

Lance frowned, his handsome face tense with annoyance as he tried to push them away. But his drunken body swayed, forcing him backward.

Just as Tara moved to guide him from behind, he stumbled back. She quickly pressed her hands against the firm muscles of his lower back to stop him from falling onto her.

The warmth of her touch seeped through the thin fabric, brushing his sensitive waist. Lance lowered his head, a quiet groan escaping his lips. The others, too focused on keeping him upright, didn't notice.

Tara didn't hear it either. Still feeling uncomfortable, she nudged him forward. Fortunately, they managed to get him into the room on the second floor without any trouble.

Gemma released her hold and wiped the cold sweat from her forehead. They couldn't let Lance fall. How would she ever face the Swain family if he got hurt?

"Alright. One person should stay and watch over him," Gemma told Tara, who was still breathing heavily.

Tara looked confused. She was catching her breath, silently complaining about how Lance, though he appeared lean, was actually tall and solid. Carrying him up the stairs had been exhausting.

"Me?" She pointed at herself, surprised.

The two assistants walked out of the room without question. Then, Gemma remembered something. Someone had mentioned to her recently that Tara might be "a little too forward".

Gemma hesitated before saying, "You shouldn't handle this alone. Get Stella to help you."

She was certain that nothing inappropriate would happen with two housekeepers present.

Tara agreed without argument. She texted Stella Lyttle, the female lead, requesting her to come to the second floor.

As for herself, Tara needed to find time to go downstairs and change into a fresh uniform. Her current one was damp, and it was making her miserable.

Gemma observed Tara, initially considering whether to fire her. But now, when she observed that Tara had shown no signs of any hidden interest in Lance, she hesitated.

Earlier, when Gemma had told Tara to take care of Lance, Tara had reacted with surprise. And when Gemma changed her instructions and told Tara to call Stella instead, Tara didn't appear disappointed at all. She quickly agreed, as though she wanted to avoid any delay.

Gemma frowned, confused, then decided to let it go for now. Hiring live-in housekeepers required thorough vetting, and with one recently dismissed and no replacement yet, she couldn't afford to lose another. She would need to revisit the issue later.

Soon, Gemma and the two assistants left, leaving only Tara and Lance, who was now lying on the couch in the room.

Tara's gaze drifted to Lance, who was stretched out on his back with his shirt slightly undone. His right leg rested on the couch while the other dangled off the edge.

His hair was a little messy, but it only added to his appeal, lending him a relaxed, seductive air. For a few seconds, her mind went blank.

Meanwhile, Lance creased his brow and slowly turned over on the couch.

Earlier, when the group had helped Lance inside, someone must have bumped into the coffee table in front of the couch. If Lance rolled off, he would likely hit his head on it.

Tara felt a jolt of alarm. She immediately pushed the coffee table away, its legs screeching against the floor, and grabbed Lance just before he could fall.

Before she could even marvel at her quick reflexes, Lance's hand closed around her wrist, pulling her down with him. She lost her balance and landed on the floor beneath him, his body pressing against hers as the subtle spice of his cologne filled her senses.

Her vision blurred momentarily, the impact driving the breath from her lungs. Then, she felt Lance's exhale, warm against her neck, sending a rush of heat over her skin.

Tara's neck and ears were unbearably sensitive. She shoved against him, but his weight held her firmly in place, solid and unyielding.

"Lance… get up. You're suffocating me," she gasped.

But no matter how hard she pushed, he didn't move. It was as if he'd already sunk into a drunken sleep.

Chapter 2

Tara kept trying to push Lance away, but her arms were trapped under his weight. She shoved with all her might, but he didn't budge. She wasn't strong enough to free herself.

No matter how hard she tried, nothing worked. His warm breath brushed against her neck, and her heart raced uncontrollably. She didn't know what to do.

Then, the door swung open. Stella walked in and stopped dead. There was Lance, his tall frame pinning Tara to the floor by the couch, completely still. Stella stood there, stunned.

"You two—" Her voice faltered as she spoke, and her expression was filled with hurt.

Lance was the guy she'd been crushing on, and the sight of this scene before her felt like a knife through her heart.

Still trapped beneath Lance, Tara heard the door open and Stella's voice. Relief washed over her, and she quickly raised her voice in desperation.

"Q-Quick! Help me get him off. I can't breathe!"

Although Tara couldn't see Stella's expression, she pleaded urgently. Her urgency wasn't just because of the lack of air. His weight pressed heavily on her chest, making it ache.

She figured that Lance must have been completely drunk as he was lying on top of her with the full weight of his body.

Stella snapped out of her daze and rushed over to help. After some struggle, they finally managed to push Lance aside. Tara scrambled out from under him, gasping for breath, her limbs prickling from the weight that had trapped her for so long.

"Thank you," Tara said.

Stella looked at Tara, whose hair and clothes were slightly disheveled. Yet, the latter still looked effortlessly beautiful. Her striking, radiant features were the kind that made people stare.

Even though nothing had actually happened between Tara and Lance, Stella couldn't shake the unease tightening in her chest.

"You're welcome," Stella answered, her smile faint.

Tara smiled back tiredly. She was completely drained after helping Lance up the stairs, getting trapped under him, and using all her strength to push him away.

She glanced at him, still unconscious on the couch. She decided that he could just stay there as she didn't want to risk waking him again.

"Stella, my clothes are wet. I'm going downstairs to change," Tara said.

She didn't need to check her reflection to know she looked disheveled.

Stella stepped out of the bathroom holding a basin of water and nodded. "Go change, then come back up."

Tara nodded. "Thanks for taking care of things here."

Stella smiled. However, whether Tara was heading downstairs to change, Stella had no intention of letting her near Lance again.

Tara didn't dwell on it. She smoothed her wrinkled uniform and decided that it would have to do for now as she left the room. She had no interest in befriending Stella, so staying polite would suffice.

The door shut quietly behind Tara. As she reached the stairwell, she stopped halfway when footsteps echoed from below.

Glancing down, she spotted Soren Farrell in casual workout clothes, his sports headphones draped around his neck. His handsome features held an easy confidence, lending him an air of charm and mischief.

His sharp gaze swept over her in silent appraisal when he noticed her. Tara's uniform was slightly rumpled, the damp patches from earlier still clinging to her skin.

The standard black-and-white dress the housekeepers typically wore fell just above the knee, looking modest on most. But her tall frame made the skirt appear shorter, ending mid-thigh.

Tara was used to remarks about her curves getting more attention than her smarts. The uniform clung to her in a way that made her stand out.

Now, her hair was disheveled, her striking face flushed with surprise. The damp fabric hugged her body, accentuating every curve.

A faint blush still colored her neck where Lance's breath had warmed her skin, leaving an unsettling blend of innocence and allure.

Soren's gaze lingered on her as he kept climbing the stairs. Tara hadn't thought that she'd run into him. She hesitated, then shifted to the side to make way.

He walked past her and was about to continue down the hall but stopped. With a slight turn, he faced her, his demeanor aloof and detached. Now, the distance between them was close.

Soren skimmed over her once more before he asked, "You're the one who upset Jonah the other day, aren't you?"

He'd heard about a housekeeper who brought Jonah Pearson coffee the day before yesterday, then blatantly tried to flirt with him in his room. Jonah had been so annoyed that he'd made her leave.

Remembering the original host's past, Tara understood exactly what Soren was talking about. She gave an awkward nod of acknowledgment. Even as she bowed her head in embarrassment, her beauty was breathtaking.

Soren stood silently, watching her for a long moment before turning away with a quiet scoff as if her efforts to charm Jonah were beneath him.

Tara didn't care about his mockery or his disdain. Soren was just one of the villa's owners. He was nothing more to her. So, what he thought of her didn't matter.

As his figure retreated into the distance, she descended the stairs. She felt uncomfortable in her uniform and needed to get back to her room to change as soon as possible.

Working as a housekeeper here had its advantages. Each live-in housekeeper had their own room, and the pay was generous.

But because the members of the famous boy band didn't want too many live-in housekeepers, only a few were employed. One had even been let go just a few days earlier.

Aside from the live-in housekeepers, other housekeepers would come in to work but would never stay overnight, leaving once their tasks were finished.

Tara hurried downstairs to her room and closed the door behind her. When she walked past the mirror, she paused and turned to study her reflection.

The reflection staring back at her had a slender build, her hair and clothes disheveled but somehow still lovely. She adjusted her skirt. Fortunately, the uniform had inner shorts to prevent accidents. Otherwise, she wouldn't have known how to handle her tasks.

She snatched a clean uniform set and changed, a dull throb pulsing in her temples. Ten minutes later, she stepped out, knowing that she couldn't linger. Then, she rushed back upstairs to Lance's room.

Stella was still cleaning Lance's hands and neck when she heard the door open and close. Her expression darkened.

Tara moved closer without saying a single word. When she saw Stella tending to Lance, she bent down, picked up the basin of warm water, and carried it to the bathroom. She poured it out and refilled it with fresh, warm water.

Stella's expression softened slightly when Tara placed the basin back beside her. Tara didn't notice the change in Stella's expression at all. She just figured that it was time for a fresh basin of warm water.

Even so, she could tell that Stella disliked her being near Lance. The way Stella stiffened when Tara wiped his hands was pretty hard to ignore.

Acting like she hadn't caught onto Stella's defensiveness, Tara plopped down on the couch with nothing to do. She couldn't leave yet since Gemma had asked her and Stella to stay and care for Lance.

Stella was almost done cleaning Lance's hands and neck. With nothing else to do, Tara waited. When Stella finished, Tara quietly took the basin and walked into the bathroom, slowly putting things away.

She wasn't usually slow with her work. She was deliberately taking her time. She didn't feel any need to rush as she had nothing left to do but to watch over Lance.

Tara left the bathroom and returned to her seat. Across from her, Stella ignored her completely. Instead, she kept looking at Lance with soft eyes, occasionally reaching over to fix his hair.

Tara watched the scene, which seemed to glow with quiet affection.

She remembered the original story of the novel—Stella had a crush on Lance and always looked after him, just like she did with the other three guys in the band. That was how she'd managed to win over all four members of the famous boy group.

Resting her chin in her hand, Tara silently observed Stella's tender care toward Lance. Outside, birds and cicadas chirped now and then. The sunlight was harsh, but the room felt cold and silent.

Before long, Tara's eyelids grew heavy. After struggling to stay awake, she sank into the couch and fell fast asleep.

Chapter 3

The evening sunlight seeped through the curtains, illuminating the couch where Lance lay. He slowly opened his eyes, his forehead creased in discomfort.

As he lifted his hand to rub his throbbing temple, his gaze landed on the couch across from him, and he went completely still.

Tara lay there, half-reclined in serene sleep. Even in rest, her beauty was undeniable, her delicate features as captivating as ever. Her work uniform clung to her figure, accentuating every graceful curve.

It was impossible not to stare. Lance's eyes lingered on her long, slender legs. They seemed so soft that they seemed like they might turn red at the slightest pressure.

His expression grew solemn, his thoughts unreadable.

Beside him, Stella stirred and woke. She became fully alert when she saw Lance's open eyes.

"Mr. Swain, you're awake?" she asked, her voice soft.

Lance shifted his attention from Tara, his voice coming out rough. "Yeah. Did Gemma send you two to keep an eye on me?"

As he spoke, Tara woke up, rubbing her eyes. Still groggy, she watched Lance check his watch.

Stella studied Tara, whose beauty gave her an almost radiant glow, and felt a flicker of irritation. But then she remembered Tara's abrasive personality, and her worry faded.

"Gemma assigned us to stay with you—for your safety," Stella said as she poured a glass of water for Lance.

Tara made no move to help. She thought rushing to pour the water would've seemed like she was just trying to curry favor with Lance, which wasn't necessary.

After all, this moment was meant to be a heartfelt exchange between the female lead and the four male leads. As the story's villainess, Tara had no place to intrude.

So she remained where she was, acting as a passive observer in the background.

While pouring the water, Stella stole another glance at Tara. Usually, Tara would be the first to jump in, eager to prove herself in front of the men.

Stella had braced for her to interfere and was even prepared to have the glass taken from her hands, but this time, Tara didn't move. She simply sat across the room, suppressing a yawn, showing no interest in participating.

Lance followed Stella's glance and turned his attention back to Tara.

She had just stifled a yawn behind her hand when she noticed them both staring at her. Her drowsy eyes darted between them, a faint hint of confusion flashing across her face.

She wondered if yawning was against the rules and thought that it seemed too ridiculous to be an actual policy.

Lance studied her carefully. He remembered how she used to strike deliberate poses in front of him, her words playful and loaded with innuendos.

But now, her gaze held nothing but utter, almost naive innocence—so much so that it made him scowl. He didn't know what kind of reverse psychology tactic she was employing.

"Leave," Lance said coldly to Tara.

The room went silent. Stella didn't dare make a sound. She glanced at Lance, then at Tara, her satisfaction barely hidden. She expected Tara to be mortified—maybe even to burst into tears.

Instead, Tara rose immediately, showing no offense or distress. If anything, she seemed almost eager to leave.

"Right away, Mr. Swain," she replied briskly.

Under Lance's and Stella's watchful gazes, Tara left the room without a second thought.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, she let out a heavy sigh, grateful to escape Lance's oppressive presence, where every move had made her feel like she was under scrutiny.

Feeling lighter, she hurried down the stairs. The housekeepers had already finished for the day, leaving the villa quiet as night settled in.

Tara still had work to do, so she couldn't head back to her room just yet. If Terence Oakley, the butler, noticed, he would dock her wages.

Meanwhile, only Lance and Stella remained in his room upstairs. Stella was too shy to look him in the eye.

Lance rubbed his forehead, saying, "You can go, too. I don't need anyone watching over me."

His tone with Stella was noticeably warmer than it had been with Tara. Ever poised, Stella nodded.

Before stepping out, she said, "Please call me if you aren't feeling well, Mr. Swain. I'd... worry otherwise."

She glanced at him hesitantly, unsure if she'd overstepped.

Lance leaned back against the couch. He shut his eyes as he quietly hummed.

Stella, pleased with herself, had just turned to leave when his low, rough voice stopped her. "Did I end up on top of you when I passed out drunk?"

Her chest tightened. The scene from when she first entered the room replayed in her mind—Tara had struggled beneath him as she frantically called out for help. Her voice still seemed to ring in Stella's ears.

Almost reflexively, Stella nodded. "I'm alright, Mr. Swain. Please don't concern yourself."

Lance didn't doubt her. "I'll compensate you."

Stella's heart leapt, but she didn't dare show any interest in whatever compensation he meant. The truth was, she couldn't accept any repayment at all, terrified that Lance might discover she hadn't actually been the one involved in the incident.

"That's unnecessary, really," she insisted, aware that stepping back was the way to move forward.

She knew that it was the surest way to make Lance take notice. After this, she was certain she would hold a special place in his thoughts. The mere idea of it filled her with excitement.

Lance dismissed her refusal. His decision seemed final. As for whether Stella's considerate act had moved him? That remained a mystery.

Downstairs, Tara had no idea what was happening in Lance's room above her. She had just finished cutting the fruit, dividing it into four portions, and arranging them neatly on a platter.

She had to remember which fruits each of the four men disliked and which they preferred, adding more of their favorites and omitting the ones they avoided.

The high salary didn't come without effort, and being a housekeeper was far from easy. With a quiet sigh, Tara placed the four servings of fruit in the refrigerator to chill, intending to deliver them to their rooms later.

A soft thud echoed as she carefully shut the door of the expensive refrigerator. It was a high-end model, and she couldn't afford to be careless. If it broke, she'd never have the money to repair it.

Tara was about to turn back to the bar counter to clean up when she spotted the young woman from earlier—the one she'd seen while collecting laundry at noon—standing behind her with an icy, unwelcoming stare.

Tara looked at her briefly, then dismissed her. She walked back to the bar counter, turned on the faucet, and started washing the cutting board and fruit knife as if no one else were there.

This was the first time she had ever ignored Leah Zeller. At that point, it had always been Leah who acted superior, while Tara buttered her up, fishing for details about the four men or trying to gain their favor.

Leah was certain that Tara would try something when she delivered the fruit platters that night. She'd already managed to rattle Jonah just two days ago. Who knew what she'd pull this time?

Nevertheless, Leah had no intention of stepping in. If anything, she hoped Gemma would fire Tara, too.

"Mr. Oakley said that I'll be delivering Mr. Pearson's fruit platter tonight," Leah announced, her voice and posture dripping with condescension, her disdain for Tara plain as day.

The running water didn't drown out the edge in her tone, but Tara kept washing the cutting board without missing a beat. She didn't look up, her reply utterly indifferent.

"Okay," she said.

Leah had expected Tara to fawn over her as usual, pleading to handle the fruit deliveries herself. She stood waiting, but after that single indifferent response, Tara said nothing more.

When Tara finished wiping down the counter, Leah still hadn't moved, rooted in place as she stared. Tara couldn't fathom why Leah was simply standing there gawking at her. As she walked past, she shot Leah a puzzled glance before continuing on her way.

Leah watched her go, completely thrown. She was surprised that Tara hadn't fought for that night's assignment. She wondered if Tara had changed to a new approach to win the men over.

Tara left the kitchen and headed straight for the staff dining area. Dinner service would start soon, and she wanted to eat before the rush.

She grabbed one of the prepped staff meals from the fridge. The chef had left them there before clocking out. Peeling off the plastic wrap, she popped it into the microwave.

Within minutes, a savory aroma wafted through the air. Satisfied, Tara pulled out the steaming meal and settled in to eat.

These past two days, along with the generous pay, the quality of the staff meals had been her most pleasant surprise. The chef's cooking was restaurant-quality, and the food had won her over.

Chapter 4

Tara was enjoying her meal when someone entered through the door. Stella didn't look surprised to find Tara there.

Leah remained puzzled by Tara's recent behavior. After spotting Stella in the staff dining area, she smiled warmly and went over to talk to her.

"Stella, are you done with your work?" Leah asked.

Stella turned and smiled. "Mr. Swain didn't want me to go hungry, so he told me to come down and eat first."

She glanced briefly at Tara, who was quietly finishing her meal.

Leah was clearly closer to Stella, and the latter held more influence with the four men.

So, she quickly offered some flattery. "Mr. Swain is so good to you, Stella. He's not like that with me… or Tara. The guys always seem to look down on us."

"If you truly care about them, they'll see your sincerity in time," Stella said, reassuring her.

Leah nodded eagerly, taking the words to heart. "Thanks, Stella. I'll do everything I can to win their trust."

Stella offered her a gentle smile and walked to the refrigerator. She threw Tara a pointed glance from across the dining table as she did.

It was apparent that her earlier remarks hadn't been directed only at Leah. They were also a quiet boast to Tara about how the men treated her with favor.

Tara focused on her meal, but she'd heard every word. Tara knew exactly what Stella meant—the men doted on her while giving Tara the bare minimum.

As for earning the men's trust? Tara wanted nothing to do with that. After all, she was just a housekeeper in this villa. The moment her contract ended, she'd leave without a second thought. What good was their trust to her?

But everyone had their own way. Her path was different from Stella's or Leah's.

The food was delicious. In no time, she'd already eaten half of it. Nearby, the scrape of chair legs against the floor broke the silence.

Stella and Leah had settled near her, talking between themselves without including Tara in their conversation. Tara was used to keeping to herself, so she didn't take it personally. People naturally talked to whomever they felt closest to.

Once she finished eating, she got up and made her way to the kitchen at a leisurely pace to wash her dishes.

Leah had no intention of washing hers and hoped Tara would do it instead. But she couldn't bring herself to ask outright since Tara had always offered before.

By the time Leah walked into the kitchen with her greasy plates and utensils, Tara had already cleaned up and put everything in the dishwasher. She gave Leah a blank look, then grabbed a couple of paper towels to dry her hands.

Leah had been standing there for half a minute, and Tara still made no move to help with the dishes.

"Tara, do you want to know if Mr. Wilhelm has a girlfriend?" Leah asked.

Tara had just tossed the paper towels into the trash. She turned to look at Leah, confused.

"No, I don't."

Why would she care whether Shawn Wilhelm was dating someone? She thought it was a strange question.

Leah was caught off guard by Tara's blunt response. She had no idea how to continue. Tara had always been curious about the men's romantic lives. Now, she was claiming that she didn't care.

She wondered if Tara was truly indifferent or just pretending.

"If you wash my dishes, I'll put in a good word for you with Mr. Pearson tonight. Maybe he'll even let you into his room tomorrow night."

Leah was sure that Tara would take the dishes after hearing that, so she held them out with a haughty expression. Naturally, she was lying. Jonah disliked Tara far too much, and Leah would never actually stand up for her.

Tara glanced at the plates and utensils in Leah's hands. She suddenly realized why Leah had asked that odd question. It was just to get out of doing the dishes.

"Don't bother with it," she said without missing a beat.

Then, she walked past Leah and left the kitchen.

Leah was stunned. She couldn't believe that Tara had actually refused. Just two days ago, she'd been trying to win Jonah over. Did she not care now?

Stella walked into the kitchen and found Leah still holding the dishes, standing motionless as she stared at the doorway.

"What's wrong?" Stella asked.

Leah finally snapped out of her thoughts, her expression uneasy as she asked, "Stella, doesn't Tara seem quieter than usual today?"

Tara had never been loud, but she often slipped away for short stretches, only to return reeking of perfume and caked in heavy makeup. She never let anyone see her bare-faced.

Yet, there was no trace of her usual overpowering scent that day. Her face was natural and stunningly beautiful, like a freshly bloomed flower. It was an almost otherworldly kind of beauty.

Leah had always known that Tara was pretty but had never realized how much her usual makeup had concealed.

That thick foundation had muted her features, and those harsh, overdrawn eyeliners looked almost ridiculous up close. Still, even the worst makeup couldn't hide the fact that Tara was naturally striking.

Stella didn't notice anything unusual about Tara. "She's probably just worried that Gemma will fire her."

She knew that Gemma would let go of Tara eventually if she kept acting out. So, she figured that lying low was a smart move.

"But…"

Leah hesitated. She and Stella were on good terms but not close enough to speak freely. Seeing Stella still waiting for her to continue, Leah dropped the subject.

She nearly asked if Tara had switched up her flirting tactics, but if Stella told Gemma she was gossiping, she knew that she'd get scolded.

"I'm probably overthinking it," Leah said, shrugging it off.

Stella offered a kind smile and unexpectedly brought up the incident from two nights ago. "About what happened with Mr. Pearson that night, I don't think Tara intended to provoke him."

"Stella, stop making excuses for Tara. She was obviously throwing herself at Mr. Pearson. She's a lot more cunning than she looks. Don't let that innocent face fool you."

Leah found Stella's trust misplaced. Tara's advances had been blatant, yet Stella kept defending her.

When Stella opened her mouth to say more in Tara's defense, Leah cut in, convinced that the former had fallen for Tara's sweet-girl act. "She's the type who uses her looks to get what she wants. You'd better be careful, Stella, or Mr. Swain could be next."

Leah dropped her voice to a murmur when mentioning Lance's name, making sure that no one else would catch wind of Stella's feelings for him.

Although Stella was certain that Lance would never give someone like Tara a second glance, she furrowed her brow in feigned concern.

"I really don't think that Tara is that kind of person—"

Leah's patience wore thin, and she said bluntly, "Stella, you're too kind. I'll keep an eye on Mr. Swain and make sure Tara doesn't get any ideas about him."

This way, she could protect Stella's interests while earning her gratitude.

Stella hesitated, her words faltering, but she never actually refused Leah's suggestion. Taking this as agreement, Leah pulled her into helping with the dishes, playing the role of the attentive friend.

The night grew darker. That night was Tara's turn to deliver fruit to the four men's rooms.

Soon after, Tara wheeled the serving cart into the elevator. Leah followed her inside, as she was responsible for bringing Jonah his fruit.

Neither of them spoke in the elevator. Tara intended to stay only until her contract expired, after which she would completely cut ties with everyone in this villa. To her, Leah was just another coworker.

She had no interest in forming any kind of connection, not even a casual one. Although Tara wasn't the most perceptive, she could still tell that Leah disliked her.

Leah kept glancing at Tara in puzzlement. But Tara never returned her gaze, not even when she stepped out of the elevator with the cart.

This annoyed Leah, who thought that Tara was putting on airs and up to some new trick.

"Tara, come with me to Mr. Pearson's room first," she said.

Leah was sure that this was the moment Tara had been waiting for. After all, everyone in the villa knew how hard she'd been trying to win Jonah's heart.

But Tara had no intention of following Leah. At the latter's words, she let go of the cart.

"You take it. I'll deliver this to Mr. Wilhelm first."

Picking up a fruit platter, Tara turned and strode down the right hallway. The second floor was spacious. The rooms on the right belonged to Jonah and Shawn, while Lance's and Soren's were on the left.

Chapter 5

Leah's face registered surprise as she watched Tara pick up the fruit platter and stop at Shawn's door. She didn't know what Tara was thinking and wondered if the latter was interested in someone new now.

Without so much as a glance at Leah, Tara knocked lightly on Shawn's door.

After a brief pause, Shawn's voice came from inside, sounding polite and warm. "Come in."

Tara turned the doorknob. Only then did Leah wheel the serving cart away, her questioning gaze fixed on Tara.

When Tara opened the door, the bedroom's cool-toned decor and faint lighting gave her an immediate sense of heaviness.

Shawn sat on the couch in loungewear, his tall frame relaxed yet poised with an elegance that naturally drew attention. When he heard the door open, he looked up.

The subdued light seemed to wrap around Tara as she entered, casting a soft glow over her. Her extraordinary beauty and alluring curves became more apparent under his gaze.

His expression remained neutral, but the assessment in his eyes turned to recognition. He had clearly remembered that she was the housekeeper who had upset Jonah.

Shawn didn't avert his eyes as Tara approached. His gaze remained composed, though he noted that her looks alone could easily ensnare attention.

Tara sensed his evaluating stare but showed no sign of discomfort. She placed the fruit platter on the coffee table.

"Enjoy, Mr. Wilhelm," she said, then turned and left without hesitation.

Shawn remained silent even as she gently closed the door behind her.

As soon as the door shut, Tara looked to the right and saw Leah emerging from Jonah's room in a hurry, her face tense with alarm.

Tara didn't approach. She simply waited, observing as Leah pushed the serving cart toward her.

When Leah reached Tara, bitter resentment surged through her. If Tara hadn't flirted with Jonah, he wouldn't be treating Leah with such cold indifference now. His cutting stares had almost left her frozen in place.

Even delivering a simple fruit platter had left Leah unsettled. His harsh expression had nearly brought her to tears.

"Take it," Leah snapped as she shoved the cart toward Tara with rough impatience, her disdain unmistakable.

Tara barely glanced at her, unfazed by her tone. She then turned and wheeled the cart down the left hallway without saying a single word.

The sooner she finished, the sooner she could rest. She thought that arguing with Leah was pointless. It would just waste time and sour her already indifferent mood.

Leah had expected Tara to snap back, but the latter only rolled her eyes and walked away. Tara's lack of reaction stoked Leah's anger, leaving her frustrated and stifled.

Tara wheeled the cart to Soren's door and knocked, just as she had moments before.

"Who is it?" Soren's voice came slightly winded.

However, Tara detected nothing unusual. "Mr. Farrell, your fruit platter is here."

"Wait," he replied, irritation sharpening his tone.

Outside, Tara missed the impatience in his voice. The door muffled his tone, leaving only his words audible.

After a pause, Soren finally answered. "Come in."

Tara turned the knob, picked up the fruit platter from the cart, and stepped inside.

Soren looked freshly showered, his hair damp, his sharp features drawn into a frown. He lounged on the couch in sleek silk pajamas, legs spread, absently clicking the TV remote. A box of tissues sat near the couch.

Having no experience with relationships, Tara didn't realize what Soren had been doing before she arrived.

Recognizing her, Soren's impatience sharpened into visible annoyance. She had interrupted at the worst possible moment.

"You again," he said, his distaste for her evident.

Tara set the platter on the table, undisturbed by his hostility. "I'm assigned to deliver the fruit platters today, Mr. Farrell. If you prefer someone else, you can discuss it with Gemma."

The generous pay made detachment effortless, and she certainly wasn't about to protest the lighter workload.

When Soren looked up irritably, he was met with her clear, uncomprehending gaze. She genuinely didn't realize what she'd interrupted.

"Fine. Just leave," he said.

After placing the fruit platter on the table, Tara retreated several paces, ensuring she kept a respectful distance from Soren. The instant he finished speaking, she turned and left without hesitation.

Soren watched her retreat with amusement before dismissing the thought entirely. Why bother thinking about a housekeeper? He shook his head and moved on.

Tara pushed the cart to Lance's door and knocked.

"Come in."

The sound of guitar strings greeted her as she opened the door. After a brief glance inside, she took the fruit platter and entered.

Lance held his guitar, his loosely curled hair framing his relaxed posture. His striking face remained lowered, his long, graceful fingers drifting over the strings. Every movement was flawless.

Tara set the fruit platter down and exited just as quietly.

The guitar's melody flowed uninterrupted by her brief presence. Lance never lifted his gaze, unconcerned with who had entered.

Tara gently closed the door, humming softly as she guided the cart to the elevator.

Finally, her shift ended. The hours were long, but the pay made it worthwhile. It was nearly double what she'd earned in her past life, back when the work had been twice as exhausting.

Tara chose to be content. Since her contract required her to stay, she focused on saving up. She'd have a substantial nest egg by the time her term was up.

The villa's grand hall stood empty, its brilliant lights doing little to fill the cavernous space. Tara stepped out of the elevator, hurried the cart to the kitchen, and made straight for her room.

As she passed through the empty hall, an unexplained tapping sound sent every horror movie scene she'd ever watched flashing through her mind. A chill crept down her spine. Hugging herself, she broke into a silent sprint.

Soren, who was coming down the stairs to get himself some wine, froze mid-step as Tara streaked past like a phantom. He frowned in bewilderment.

Tara returned to her room, found her sleepwear, and enjoyed a soothing hot shower. Weariness overtook her, and she fell asleep almost as soon as she laid down.

Her sleep was restless. When she awoke, the first light of morning had appeared.

Terence required housekeepers to stand by during breakfast. He expected them to be prepared to attend to the four men's needs.

However, due to having provoked Jonah two days ago, Tara had been instructed to avoid his presence. That was why she was the only one who was absent from the dining area yesterday.

Tara assumed that that morning would mirror yesterday's routine. She was already heading toward the staff dining area when Terence intercepted her.

"Tara, where are you off to?" he called out, observing her leisurely stroll toward the staff dining area.

"To eat breakfast," she answered truthfully.

Rather than scolding her, Terence said, "Breakfast can wait. The dining area is short-staffed. Go lend a hand there first."

After excluding her yesterday to avoid angering Jonah again, the remaining housekeepers had struggled through breakfast service. The dismissal of another staff member had only compounded the chaos.

Tara reminded him. "Mr. Oakley, about Mr. Pearson..."

She feared provoking Jonah's temper this early in the day, not to mention risking a deduction from her paycheck.

Terence thought that Jonah's anger had probably subsided after two days. Moreover, Tara had kept to herself since the incident.

"Stand behind Mr. Swain later," he directed after a moment's thought.

Tara paused before voicing her concern. "What if Mr. Pearson gets angry? You wouldn't dock my pay over this, right?"

Her cautious question unexpectedly drew a chuckle from Terence. "No, it won't."

Then, his expression hardened. "But what happened before can't repeat itself."

Tara nodded immediately. "You have my word, Mr. Oakley. It won't happen again."

Terence found himself reassured by her sincere expression.

In the first-floor dining area, four men sat around the expansive table. Each possessed striking features, an imposing physique, and an air of quiet refinement.

They exchanged a few words, none seeming inclined toward conversation.