Living with the devil
Zain stopped the car in front of the tall glass building. His hand rested on the steering wheel for a moment as he turned his head. Anya was leaning against the seat, her eyelashes damp, faint tear marks glistening on her cheeks.
For the first time that day, Zain's cold eyes softened. He gently reached out, brushing away the wetness with his thumb.
"Anya… wake up. We've arrived," he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Anya stirred, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion. When her eyes finally opened, her voice cracked, broken by grief.
"We… have arrived…"
Zain exhaled sharply, masking the softness that had slipped out.
"Take your luggage out. I'll go park the car."
She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Okay."
Dragging her suitcase out, she stood quietly in the driveway, her slender frame looking small against the towering building.
When Zain returned, carrying two more suitcases with ease, his brows furrowed.
"What's wrong with you? Can't you even walk properly?"
Anya bit her lip but didn't answer. She simply followed him inside.
---
The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding. As the two stepped in, silence filled the narrow space. Anya's gaze lifted to the mirror panel inside. For a fleeting second, she saw their reflection—herself, fragile but determined, standing next to him, the man who now controlled her future.
"Now… I'll have to live under the same roof as my boss," her thoughts echoed. "But no matter what, I will never lose my self-respect."
The elevator stopped at the ninth floor. Zain keyed in the password, and the door to Apartment 902 unlocked with a soft click.
The moment Anya stepped inside, her breath hitched.
"This… this house…" Her eyes widened. White leather sofas, spotless marble flooring, tall glass windows that opened to Shenzhen's glittering skyline—everything looked like it had stepped out of a magazine.
Her lips parted in awe. "Boss… is this really your house? It's so luxurious… like a dream home."
A devilish curve tugged at Zain's lips.
"No… it's the neighbor's."
Anya's glare snapped him back into a chuckle.
"Of course, it's mine. But remember—your room is separate. Don't even think of stepping into mine. Whether at home or office, I'll always remain your boss."
Her chest tightened, but she forced out, "I have no interest in entering your room… or calling you my husband."
A dangerous glint danced in his eyes.
"Good. By the way, I don't like maids. So you'll handle the chores. Cooking, cleaning… all of it. And if you're late to the office…"—he leaned in, his breath brushing her ear—"consider your job gone."*
Anya's hands curled into fists. "How am I supposed to handle such a big house alone?"
Zain shrugged carelessly, picking up his suitcase.
"It's not that big. You should've seen my parents' mansion." He walked away, tossing over his shoulder, "Dinner better be ready by the time I'm out of the shower, Mrs. Yan."
---
Anya's throat tightened. Her vision blurred with unshed tears.
"God… what kind of fate is this? Papa… why did you push me into this? A wife in name… a maid in reality."
But she swallowed her pain, set her suitcase in her room, and forced herself toward the kitchen.
The bathroom door clicked open just then. Zain emerged, his damp hair falling carelessly over his forehead, a black T-shirt clinging to his lean frame. For a moment, Anya froze—her heart skipping.
But his sharp tone cut through.
"You haven't cooked yet? I'm starving."
Her lips trembled. "I… I don't even know where things are kept in this kitchen."
Zain sighed, pushing open the cabinets. His movements were swift, confident. He pulled out noodles, vegetables, and spices, placing them on the counter.
"Fine. I'll show you. But this is the first and last time."
Anya watched silently, tying an apron around her waist. Her hands trembled as she turned toward the stove.
"Excuse me, madam," Zain mocked, crossing his arms. "Do you even know how to cook noodles?"
She turned, her voice quiet but steady.
"I do… but I don't know how to turn on this stove."
Zain slapped his forehead, half-amused.
"Unbelievable. It's an electric stove. Press the button, and fire comes on. Miss Stupid, how long will you be like this?"
Her jaw tightened, but she stayed silent. She filled the pot, added vegetables and noodles. Steam slowly curled into the air.
Zain leaned lazily against the counter, his gaze fixed on her.
"So… you really know how to cook, or do you just throw things in?"
Without looking at him, Anya replied softly,
"I used to cook when my parents weren't home. Everyone praised me. At home, they called me 'Little Chef.'"
A sly smile curved his lips.
"Oh… so you are a good cook. Seems I was right to make you responsible for the meals."
She ignored him, served the noodles into two glass bowls, and placed them on the dining table.
Zain took a bite, raising an eyebrow.
"Hmm… not bad. Actually… delicious."
Anya straightened her back, her voice steady.
"I told you, they used to call me Little Chef."
Zain's smirk deepened.
"Then, Little Chef… from now on, always cook according to my orders."
She bent slightly, mocking respect.
"Yes, Boss. Your personal chef awaits your commands."
But inside, her heart screamed—
"If only I could add poison… then this devil would be gone, and I'd finally be free."
Her lips curved into a faint smile at the thought.
Zain noticed. He clapped his hands suddenly.
Anya jumped. "What happened? Were the noodles that good?"
Zain laughed sarcastically.
"Not the noodles… your daydreams. Anyway, I'm full. I'm going to my room. And listen—don't even think of sleeping until the dishes are washed."
Anya gritted her teeth, muttering under her breath,
"After such a long trip, now dishes too? If I weren't so tired, I'd throw you in the sink along with them."
But she washed the dishes quickly, arranged her clothes, and finally walked into the grand bathroom.
Her eyes widened. "This bathroom is bigger than my entire bedroom… a bathtub, a shower… unbelievable."
She smiled faintly, showered, and returned to her room. Sliding into the soft bed, she whispered to herself,
"At least… the bed is kind to me."
Within moments, her eyelids fluttered closed, carrying her into an uneasy sleep.