The mansion loomed over me like a cathedral of shadows.
Tall. Silent. Unwelcoming. Its gates had swallowed me whole the moment I stepped through them, and every instinct in me screamed to turn back.
But I couldn't. Not when the rent was late again. Not when my mother's medicine sat unpaid at the pharmacy. Not when this job was the only thing keeping us alive.
I adjusted the strap of my worn canvas bag, my fingers trembling as I pressed the heavy brass doorbell. The chime echoed through the estate like a haunting hymn, a sound far too rich and hollow for someone like me.
The door opened, not to a butler in crisp white gloves, but to him.
Adrian Veyron.
I'd heard his name before I'd seen his face—whispered in markets, hissed in alleyways, murmured in cafés where women leaned close, eyes shining with both fear and fascination. Mafia heir. Ruthless. Dangerous. Untouchable.
And now he was in front of me, in tailored black, his presence consuming the doorway. His eyes, cold and glacial blue, pinned me in place as though he already owned me.
"You're late," he said, voice low, each word dipped in disdain.
My throat tightened. "I—I was told to be here at nine—"
"And it's nine-oh-five." His jaw flexed, sharp and merciless. "I don't tolerate lateness. Not from anyone."
Heat crawled up my neck. He didn't move aside, didn't even attempt civility. For a second, I thought he might close the door in my face. But instead, his mouth curved—dangerously, mockingly.
"You're the new maid?" His tone dripped with amusement, like the idea was a private joke only he understood. "You don't look like you belong in my house."
I swallowed hard. My dress was plain, my shoes scuffed, and compared to his world, I must have looked like a stray dragged in from the gutter. But I couldn't afford pride. Not here.
"I'll work hard," I managed, my voice barely steady. "I—I need this job."
His eyes lingered on me far too long, a predator considering prey. Then, slowly, he stepped aside, motioning me in with a flick of his fingers.
"Then come in," he murmured. "And remember this, little maid—once you step through that door, you don't just work for me. You belong to me."
My heart thudded as I crossed the threshold, the words sinking into me like hooks.
The mansion was suffocatingly beautiful. Marble floors so polished they reflected the light like water. Chandeliers that dripped with crystal. Paintings older than my entire family lined the walls, silent witnesses to lives I'd never understand.
And yet it didn't feel like a home. It felt like a kingdom. Or a cage.
Adrian closed the door with a soft click, sealing me inside.
"Rule number one," he said, his voice breaking through my awe. "You don't wander. Every hallway you step into, every room you clean—you do so because I allow it."
I nodded quickly, clutching my bag like a lifeline.
"Rule number two," he continued, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. "You don't question me. Ever."
My breath hitched. He was so near I could smell him—expensive cologne and the faintest trace of smoke, the kind of scent that clung and lingered.
"And rule number three," his voice dropped, dangerous and deliberate, "you remember your place. You're here to serve. Nothing more."
The air between us tightened, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe.
"Yes, sir," I whispered.
His smirk returned, sharper this time, cutting through me. "Good girl."
He brushed past me, his shoulder grazing mine, the heat of his presence sparking a shiver down my spine.
"This house is full of secrets," Adrian said, his voice echoing as he walked toward the grand staircase. "But you won't need to worry about them. You'll be too busy worrying about me."
I stood frozen in the entrance hall, my pulse racing. I had come here for a job. But standing in his mansion, under his rules, I realized something terrifying.
I wasn't just his maid.
I was already his possession.