C9 STRIP

CALI

When we arrived at the mansion, the driver parked smoothly in front of the wide gates and stepped out first. I followed shortly after, my feet touching the polished driveway as I took in the sight before me. Almost immediately, a few maids hurried over, opening the trunk and collecting my luggage without wasting a second.

They greeted me politely, each one bowing slightly as they worked. I nodded back, unsure of what else to do. Everything about the moment felt unreal, like I had stepped into someone else’s life.

They were all neatly dressed, their movements practiced and efficient as they carried my bags inside. Watching them made me feel out of place, like I didn’t belong in a space this refined.

The mansion itself was overwhelming. It was easily twice as grand as my parents’ house—no, even that felt like an understatement. The building practically screamed wealth, from the towering pillars to the spotless glass windows that reflected the afternoon light.

I was still lost in thought, my mind racing with questions I didn’t have answers to, when a soft voice pulled me back to the present.

“Welcome, ma’am,” a maid said warmly.

Her tone was gentle, not forced, and it eased my nerves just a little.

“Thank you,” I replied, managing a small smile.

“My name is Bethel,” she continued. “I’ll be your personal maid.”

I blinked, slightly surprised.

Personal maid?

I nodded slowly, though my mind was already questioning it. Who told Mr. Smith that I needed a personal maid? I wondered. I wasn’t used to this level of attention. At home, I did everything myself. The idea of someone assigned solely to me felt strange.

“Let me show you to your room,” Bethel said, turning and leading the way.

She walked at a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow, as if she was mindful of my discomfort. Her politeness and calm demeanor helped settle my nerves as we moved through the long hallways.

When we entered the room, I stopped in my tracks.

It was massive.

The space was larger than my entire bedroom back home. A queen-sized bed sat neatly in the center, dressed in soft, neutral-colored sheets. There was a sitting area near the window, complete with a couch and a small table. Everything looked untouched, pristine.

Without thinking, I dropped onto the nearby couch, exhaustion finally catching up to me. My body felt heavy, and my head throbbed slightly from everything that had happened in such a short time.

“What would you like to eat, ma’am?” Bethel asked softly.

I shook my head. “I’m fine with a cup of milk,” I said after a moment. Then I hesitated and added, “And please don’t call me ma’am. Just call me Cali.”

She nodded immediately, as if relieved. “Alright, Cali.”

She returned shortly with a cup of warm milk. I took a few slow sips, the warmth settling in my chest. It was rich and creamy, comforting in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.

Soon after, I lay down on the bed, my body sinking into the mattress. Sleep came easily.

When I woke up later, I felt much better. The heaviness in my chest had eased, and my mind felt clearer. Bethel later gave me a tour of the house, guiding me through rooms that looked like they belonged in magazines.

The place felt like paradise.

Everywhere I looked, there was something impressive—wide staircases, spotless floors, elegant furniture. I couldn’t help but wonder how Mr. Smith had managed to acquire all of this at such a young age. It didn’t make sense to me, but I kept the thought to myself.

BRYAN

I would have gone home earlier that day, but work kept piling up. One meeting led to another, and by the time I checked the clock, hours had passed.

With Cali staying at the mansion now, I realized something else—I needed a new secretary. The current arrangement wouldn’t work anymore, not with everything changing so quickly.

Later that day, Catherine came by my office.

She asked casually about my fiancée, her tone light, as if it didn’t matter. When I told her it was Cali, her reaction was immediate. Shock flickered across her face, followed by disappointment she tried—and failed—to hide.

She didn’t ask any further questions, though. She simply nodded and excused herself.

A few minutes after she left, Jason walked in without knocking, as usual.

“So,” he said, leaning against the desk, “did you finally get yourself a girlfriend just to please your mum?”

“Yes,” I replied simply.

He froze for a second, clearly surprised.

He laughed shortly after, shaking his head. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

He went on, joking about how easily I attracted women and how shocked he was that I found someone so quickly.

“Well, I’d say it’s luck,” I said, letting out a laugh.

“That’s not what I’d call luck,” he replied, laughing along.

“Either way, congrats,” he added. “I have to go—my girlfriend is waiting.”

He left my office just as quickly as he had entered.

I hadn’t expected the visit, but that was Jason. Always busy. Always moving. The only difference between us was that he was in a serious relationship, while I preferred to keep things casual—or at least, I had before now.

CALI

Later that day, Bethel and I went shopping, as instructed by Mr. Smith.

The entire mall had been booked.

The moment we stepped inside, I felt overwhelmed. The space was too quiet, too polished, and everything around me looked impossibly expensive. I didn’t know where to look or what to touch. Every price tag made my chest tighten.

I didn’t know what to choose.

Most of the outfits ended up being picked by Bethel. She had a good eye and seemed to know exactly what would suit me. I just nodded along, trusting her judgment because my mind felt too tired to argue.

When we finally returned home, the maids collected the bags from the car without hesitation. I dragged myself inside, my feet aching, my shoulders sore. I was completely exhausted.

As I entered the sitting room, I froze.

Mr. Smith was seated confidently on the couch, his posture relaxed, his presence commanding without effort. For a second, I considered ignoring him completely—but the maids were nearby, watching.

“Good evening,” I greeted politely.

“Follow me,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

I didn’t argue.

I followed him down the hallway and into his room. The lights were dim, casting shadows across the space. I could barely see anything clearly, and that alone made my unease grow.

What does Mr. Grumpy want now? I wondered silently.

I stood there, unsure of what to do, my thoughts spiraling as the silence stretched.

Then I heard his voice again—low, firm, and impossible to ignore.

“Strip,” he commanded.

The tone was unreadable. Not rushed. Not raised. Just steady.

I froze where I stood, my heart pounding as I tried to understand what he meant—and what he intended.