The Hale mansion was quiet that morning until the heavy wooden doors creaked open and in walked the new maid.

Stiles.

She was everything opposite of what Derek and his wife Jennifer had expected. Instead of the plain black uniform and stiff white apron, she wore a tight, short maid dress that clung to every curve. The neckline plunged low, her breasts pressed together like they were begging to spill out. The hem of her skirt barely covered the tops of her thighs, and when she moved, flashes of lace garters teased. Her glossy pink lips were pillowy and wet, her long hair tumbling over her shoulders. She smelled faintly of sweet perfume, the kind that lingered in the air.

Derek froze mid-step, staring openly, while Jennifer’s mouth parted in shock.

“Uh… you’re… the new maid?” Jennifer finally asked, her voice wavering between disbelief and judgment.

Stiles gave a sweet little smile, bowing slightly. The movement made her cleavage jiggle.

“Yes, madam. I’m Stiles. I’ve been told my only responsibility is caring for your father-in-law.”

Her voice was soft, melodic, but carried a teasing undertone.

Derek’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, still staring. Jennifer elbowed him hard, forcing his eyes away, but she herself couldn’t stop glancing at the maid’s body.

“We… we heard you’re the best at what you do,” Jennifer said cautiously.

“That’s right,” Stiles purred. “I give… very special care. Old men need attention. Patience. Comfort.” She dragged out the last word, licking her bottom lip.

Derek felt heat stir low in his belly at the implication.

Just then, the shuffle of feet echoed down the hallway. Peter Hale, aged seventy, leaned heavily on his cane as he entered the room. His hair was white now, his face lined with years, but his eyes were sharp.

He stopped dead the moment he saw her.

Stiles turned toward him, smiling brightly, and curtsied. Her skirt rode up indecently, flashing more of her thighs than was proper.

“Good morning, Mr. Hale,” she greeted. Her voice dripped with sweetness. “I’ll be your caretaker from now on.”

Peter’s lips parted, and for the first time in years, he felt his chest tighten in something that wasn’t age or pain—it was lust. His gaze roamed her body shamelessly, lingering on her breasts, her ass, the way the dress clung to her.

“You’re… you’re the maid?” he asked, almost disbelieving.

“Yes, sir,” Stiles replied, stepping closer. Her perfume hit him—soft, feminine, intoxicating. She leaned forward to adjust the blanket draped over his shoulders, her breasts pressing against his arm for just a second longer than necessary.

Peter inhaled sharply. His old heart pounded.

Derek cleared his throat loudly, breaking the moment. “She’s here to work, father. Don’t… don’t get any wrong ideas.”

But Jennifer caught the way Stiles’s lips curled into a knowing little smirk.

Stiles had only just arrived, and already, the Hale family realized: she wasn’t an ordinary maid. She was temptation wrapped in lace and silk, and she was here for their father.

And Peter? He hadn’t felt this alive in years.