....He looked at me with strings of clear emotions flashing through his eyes like surprise, intimidation and something that looked like fear but I couldn't quite fathom.
When Xavier finally seemed to snap out of his daze, he looked at me with clear disapproval.
"You can request whatever you need from any of the maids available at the moment," he said coolly. "You don't get to keep a personal maid. Notify me directly if you need anything."
His voice was firm, final — like I'd just overstepped some unspoken line. Then his gaze shifted, turning even colder as it landed on Paulina.
"You," he snapped. "I don't want to see you in this building again. Leave. Right now."
Paulina froze.
"And I heard you disrespected Beth?" he continued, voice low and laced with warning. "How dare you? Maybe it's time someone reminded you of your place here. I think you need to be punished every now and then so you don't forget."
Paulina squirmed where she stood, her body trembling slightly, but she didn't cry out or plead. She didn't even beg — which surprised me. She just wiped away the silent tears sliding down her cheeks, turned on her heel, and walked out with her head low but her steps steady.
That broke something in me.
The way she accepted it — like it was normal. Like she'd been here before.
I stared at Xavier, anger rising like fire behind my ribs. I didn't care about his rules or his tone or the fact that he thought he had the final say.
I was furious.
And I was going to let him know it.
I looked at him coldly, my voice low but sharp.
"I want that maid. Your boss said all of you are to serve me — which means you're under me. And if I say I want that maid for myself, I'm going to get her."
I didn't wait for a reply. With that, I turned on my heel and walked upstairs to my room, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing any hesitation in my step.
As soon as I entered, I went straight for my drawer and pulled out my copy of the marriage contract. I flipped through the pages until I found what I was looking for — my husband's personal phone number.
He'd told me himself: "If you experience any issue, call me directly."
Well, this actually counted as an issue.😑
I hesitated.
His words from earlier echoed in my head like a curse I couldn't unhear:
> "I'll dispose of you when you become too clingy... and I'll make sure you regret being born into this damn world."
My fingers hovered over the contract, heart pounding. What if calling him made me look clingy? What if he saw it as weakness — or worse, neediness?
I'd seen with my own eyes how powerful this man was. The buildings, the staff, the way everyone answered to his name without question — He wasn't just influential; he was dangerous in the kind of way that made you think twice before pushing him.
But deep down, in that quiet space where logic and instinct clash, I felt it — this man was going to change my life. Whether it would be for better or for worse, I couldn't say yet, but I knew it wouldn't be ordinary. With his help, I could take back control, get my revenge, and build a stable life — at least for the duration of our contract.
And I didn't want to lose that.
So, after weighing the pros and cons, I carefully placed the file back in its original position and sank into the bed, exhaling deeply.
He was going to come back. That, I knew for sure.
And when he did, we were going to have a face-to-face conversation.
--
With that in mind, I headed straight for the bathroom to take a quick shower, hoping the warm water would wash away the lingering frustration from earlier.
---
The warm bath eased my nerves, washing away some of the tension until I felt almost human again. Wrapping a towel securely around myself, I tiptoed into the room to grab my clothes.
The moment I pushed the door open, I froze.
A man was sitting on my bed with a laptop perched on his thighs. It was him..He was wearing glasses I'd never seen before, and his brows were furrowed so tightly he looked like a hawk surveying its prey. The comparison almost made me chuckle, but I held it in—I had no intention of alerting him.
I hurried toward the laundry basket, snatching my clothes in record time, and was just about to retreat back to the bathroom when disaster struck. My toe collided with the side glass vase. Hard.
The sharp pain shot up my leg, and I bit back a curse just as the man on the bed rose to his feet. His expression was stern, and there was a strange glint in his eyes I couldn't quite read.
"Uhmm, sorry I ruined your vase-thingy, and… I'm gonna pay you for it when I'm back on my feet," I said, my tone edging toward bold by the end. Because honestly, what was with him? His stupid vase just tried to murder my toe, and he couldn't even apologize? Girl, it hurt like hell!
He didn't look amused. In fact, something about my words seemed to displease him even more, and for reasons I couldn't explain, I found myself instinctively wanting to pacify him.
---
The air seemed to turn chilling cold for a split second. I glanced back at his face, but it was already back to that stone-cold, calm, in-control, emotionless mask. I began to doubt what I'd just seen.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it.
"I see you're enjoying your stay here. Are you facing any issues with the servants?"
"Uhmm… I don't think it's appropriate for us to talk like this," I said, gesturing to my towel.
"Right! I didn't notice. There are clothes your size in the closet."
Excuse me? Didn't notice?
It's not like I had a thing for him, but I'm a lady! How dare he just dismissively say he hadn't noticed? The nerve! I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing his words annoyed me, so I lifted my chin, pretending they didn't affect me at all.
As I stormed off towards the closet, I caught with my side eye that he grinned—just slightly, but it was there.
I froze mid-step, my head whipping in his direction so quickly you'd think I was checking for a ghost. But when I looked straight at him, his face was back to the same cold, unreadable mask, as if nothing had happened.
I blinked a few times, wondering if my brain was playing tricks on me. Still, I knew what I saw.
"I swear he smiled," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head as I finally reached for the closet door.
The moment it swung open, my jaw nearly hit the floor.
Holy Waka moly—I was not prepared for this sight. The entire space was filled with clothes. Not just any clothes, but beautiful, high-quality pieces that looked like they had been handpicked straight from the runways of Paris or Milan. The fabrics shimmered faintly under the light, smelling faintly of expensive perfume, and were arranged so neatly it almost felt like stepping into a private boutique.
I stepped inside without thinking, running my fingers over the sleeve of a dress. The fabric was so soft it nearly slipped from my grasp. Each piece was flashy, polished, and fancy in a way that screamed money.
If this was what they considered casual clothes here, then what on earth did they wear to banquets or parties? 😳
---