My Housekeeper Alpha: A Billionaire Wolf

Juliet

My phone buzzed on the coffee table, cutting through the chaos of dirty laundry piled on the couch and takeout boxes scattered across the kitchen counter.

It was Sarah from work.

"Hey Jules!" her voice came through the speaker, warm but harried. "I know I mentioned my werewolf housekeeper before—super efficient, right? Well, I’m going on maternity leave next week, and he’s got a two-month contract left. I can’t just leave him hanging, and I thought… you’ve been drowning in work lately. Would you want to take over his service? He’s quiet, does everything perfectly, and I swear he’ll fix that disaster of an apartment in no time."

I stared at the phone, then at the mountain of dishes in the sink.

Sarah had gushed about her "help" before—how he’d fold her laundry like it was military precision, cook meals that tasted like restaurant food—but she’d never mentioned he was a werewolf.

Not that it mattered.

At this point, I’d hire an alien if it meant someone else would scrub the range hood.

"Are you sure?" I asked, already reaching for my laptop to check my bank balance. "I don’t want to impose, and… do I even qualify? I mean, I’m just a regular office worker."

"Trust me, he’s not picky—he just needs someone who’ll let him do his job," Sarah laughed. "I’ll send you his info now. His name’s Louis, and he’ll be at your place on Wednesday at 9 AM. Don’t worry, I already told him you’re cool. Oh, and one heads up—he’s a little… reserved. But that’s just his vibe. No drama, I promise."

Before I could ask more questions, Sarah had to go—something about baby showers and registry checks—and I was left staring at a new text from her: a name, a phone number, and a blurry photo of a tall man in a black uniform, his face turned away, but broad shoulders and a hint of a tail (wait, a tail?) visible in the frame.

I blinked. Maybe it was a trick of the light.

Three days later, my doorbell rang precisely at 9 AM.

I opened the door and immediately froze.

The man standing in my hallway was… fuck. I mean, Sarah had said he was "efficient," but she’d neglected to mention he was drop-dead gorgeous.

He had that perfect upright posture, sharp, cold features that belonged in a fashion magazine, and gray-blue eyes that seemed to cut right through me.

And yes—there was a tail, sleek and dark, with a tiny patch of white fur at the tip shaped like a heart.

'He looks like he belongs in a penthouse, not my tiny apartment,' I thought, trying not to gape.

"Master," he said, his voice low and calm, but with this weird quality that reminded me of static electricity on warm velvet.

I felt my cheeks heat up and waved my hands awkwardly. "No, no—just Juliet. Please. Sarah said you’d be… helping out."

He tilted his head slightly, the tail behind him flicking once, like he was processing the name. "Juliet. I’m Louis."

Before I could respond, Louis moved his tail forward, positioning it gently in front of me. His ears twitched—just a small, almost imperceptible movement.

"According to the service agreement Sarah transferred," he explained, his voice still even, "you need to lightly hold my tail to confirm the contract transfer. It’s a formality."

"Oh. Right." I reached out tentatively and grasped his tail.

Holy shit. The fur was incredibly soft and warm, like touching expensive cashmere. It felt so good that I couldn’t help myself—I gave it a gentle stroke.

"Mmm..." Louis made a low, muffled sound deep in his throat.

I immediately pulled my hand back. "Sorry! Did I hurt you?"

Louis's eyes dropped to meet mine, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. From somewhere deep in his throat came a low "whuff" sound that made my stomach do weird flips.

"No," he said quietly. "I just wasn’t expecting that."

"Don’t be nervous," I said, trying to sound reassuring. "Why don’t you get familiar with the environment first? We’ll have plenty of things to do later—dishes, laundry, that range hood that’s been collecting grease since last month..."

"If you need service right now, I can begin immediately," Louis replied, his gaze drifting to the kitchen, then back to me.

I blinked. "Right now?"

I considered it for a moment. Why not get started? "Um... sure, that works. The kitchen’s probably the worst."

"Good," Louis said simply.

But something had changed in his voice. That low rumbling sound in his throat became more pronounced, and his tail gave a subtle wag.

I had the strangest feeling we weren't talking about the same thing, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what I was missing.

'Maybe werewolves are just really eager workers,' I thought, watching as Louis's eyes seemed to gleam with an intensity that made my heart race for reasons I didn't quite understand.

"So," I said, clearing my throat, "should we start with the dishes, or—"

"Whatever you prefer, Juliet," Louis interrupted, his voice dropping even lower. "I’m here to serve your needs."

There was something in the way he said "serve your needs" that made my face burn, but I chalked it up to his formal service training.

After all, he was just a professional domestic worker, right?

Right?

The way he was looking at me—like I was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen—suggested maybe there was more to this "transfer" than Sarah had let on.

But what could that possibly mean?