Discover Alice Osborne’s Secret Role at NSFWLover Estate Today

First Morning in the Estate

It wasn’t exactly how I pictured my first week at the Osborne family estate going. I thought it’d be old books, dusty halls, tea served on silver trays. But mostly, I was just avoiding eye contact. Alice Osborne, 22, was my so-called chambermaid—though that felt like such an outdated word.

She wasn’t really a maid. More like... someone the family hired to help me “prepare for marriage.” That’s how Aunt Lydia phrased it. I hadn’t really connected the dots until the third evening, sitting on the sun-faded couch in the east wing library, watching Alice dust the shelves.

Her uniform was classic black and white, short sleeves. Her hair was pinned up. When she bent slightly to reach a higher shelf, I caught myself staring a second too long.

“Caught you,” she said casually, not even turning her head. Her voice was light, a little teasing. “You’re not the first, you know.”

“I wasn’t—” I started.

“Sure you weren’t.” She shot me a look over her shoulder, half smile, eyes sharp like she could see straight through me.

Small Talk, Awkward Silences

That night after dinner, Alice knocked on my door. No one else was around; Aunt Lydia had gone to bed early, as always.

“You sleep in this big room alone?” she asked, glancing around.

“Yeah.” I stood there like an idiot, not sure if I should invite her in.

“Mind if I sit down?” She was already moving, perching on the edge of the armchair by the window. The moonlight hit her hair, softening her features.

“So,” Alice said after a long pause, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. “They told you why I’m here, right?”

“I mean... sort of.” I scratched the back of my neck. “Sex ed before marriage. Whatever that means.”

Alice laughed. “Yeah, it’s not as serious as it sounds. I’m just supposed to make sure you’re... you know. Comfortable. Experienced enough. So you’re not lost on your wedding night.”

“Right.” My ears felt warm. “That’s... pretty awkward.”

“Definitely is, at first,” she said, crossing her legs slowly. “But it doesn’t have to be. We could start simple. Talk, get to know each other.”

I nodded, probably a little too quickly. Alice smiled again. It wasn’t forced. Just natural, like she was used to putting nervous people at ease.

Teaching Moments and Coffee Cups

By the fourth day, things felt less weird. We’d fallen into a kind of routine: breakfast, Alice helping me pick clothes that “showed confidence,” afternoon walks in the garden.

“You hold yourself too stiff,” she told me once, nudging my shoulder lightly. “You gotta loosen up a little.”

We’d sit on the back patio with coffee most mornings. Alice always added two sugars and way too much milk.

“Sweet tooth?” I asked, watching her stir.

“Habit. Where I grew up, everything was bitter. Coffee, tea, family dinners.” She shrugged. “Sugar makes things easier.”

One time she mentioned growing up in a small town outside the city, working odd jobs before landing this gig with the Osbornes.

“Pays better than cleaning rooms at some motel,” she said. “And I get to stay in a big fancy house like this.”

She’d tilt her head sometimes when she talked, like she wasn’t sure if I was really listening. I was. Every word.

More Than Just a Lesson

It was late one evening, raining hard outside. I couldn’t sleep. My feet carried me to the kitchen without thinking, where I found Alice sitting on the counter, bare feet swinging, wearing just a long T-shirt that definitely wasn’t part of her uniform.

“Hey,” she said, voice softer now, less teasing. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah.” I rubbed my eyes. “You?”

“Same. Thought I’d make tea.”

She jumped down, padded over to the stove like she owned the place. I sat at the table, resting my chin on my hand.

“I keep wondering if this is all just... a setup,” I said finally. “Like, you’re not really here to teach me anything. Maybe it’s all just to make me feel grown-up.”

Alice turned, pouring hot water into two cups. “It’s not a setup.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I wouldn’t waste my time on someone who wasn’t serious.” She set a cup down in front of me, eyes steady now. “You’re serious, right?”

I swallowed, nodding once.

“Then we’ll keep figuring it out.”

Her hand brushed mine on the table, slow, deliberate. Not an accident. And I realized something simple: it wasn’t really about marriage or lessons or family expectations.

It was just two people sitting in a quiet kitchen, while rain tapped on the windows, figuring out where they stood with each other.