~Becklan's POV~
He stood up from the table, radiating cold satisfaction. "Good. Let me take you to her room."
I followed him down a quiet side corridor, wondering why he was acting like this was some life-and-death situation. Why is he being so dramatic about a simple cat or dog? I thought, shaking my head.
We were only a few steps away from the room when Mr. President lifted a hand and pointed toward a door up ahead.
"Beck," he said, "that's Rose's room."
Curiosity and the need to prove I wasn't scared won over caution. I rushed ahead and grabbed the ornate handle. Mr. President just watched me without saying a word. I threw the door open, fully expecting to meet the tiny, adorable creature he'd been acting dramatic about.
"Hello, Rose, your new father figure is here to—"
My voice died in my throat.
The room wasn't a kennel. It was a giant, humid terrarium. And perched on a thick branch was a creature thicker than a man's arm, its scales shimmering like polished metal.
A massive python.
My soul left my body.
Years of city life had not prepared me for anything that slithered. All my confidence evaporated in one catastrophic moment.
"AHHHHHHHHH!"
I slammed the door shut so hard the wood rattled, scrambling backward with flailing arms and zero dignity. "Python! Mr. President, that thing is a python! I saw a python in that room!" I shouted, still backing away without even looking where I was going.
I rushed back so quickly that my eyes never left Mr. President's annoyingly smug grin. He looked like nothing I said mattered and honestly, to him, it didn't. He clearly planned all of this. It was pure evil. I was too busy drowning in fear and cursing him in my head to notice the small puddle near the air vent.
My polished shoe slid across the marble.
My legs shot into the air.
"Ahh!" I screamed again, windmilling hopelessly as I started falling backward toward the rock-hard floor.
Mr. President moved instantly.
He grabbed me by the shoulder, yanking me forward. Instead of hitting the ground, I crashed against his chest, a solid wall of heat and expensive cologne. My fingers instinctively clutched his tailored suit, my cheek pressed against smooth silk.
For a moment, the world went quiet.
Just his arm around me… steady, warm, holding me up.
I looked up at him, eyes still wide and a bit wet from shock. His cold expression softened just a little amusement, triumph, and something surprisingly warm flickering in his gaze.
"Well, Beck," he whispered, leaning in just enough to make my skin prickle, "you've been begging for my touch since the elevator. You really are one hell of an actor."
I was too overwhelmed to reply. My heart was pounding, my mind spinning from the fear, the closeness, the insult, everything. I stayed frozen, gripping him, not knowing whether the moment would soften or snap.
But luck wasn't on my side, the moment didn't soften. It snapped. He let go. Honestly, he dropped me faster than bad network service.
I yelped, landing hard on my bottom as the cold marble smacked the air out of me. The pain shot through my hip like betrayal.
I looked up, stunned. Leon stood over me, smoothing the slight wrinkle I had made in his suit, as if that was the only tragedy that had happened.
"Get up, Beck," he said, his voice sliding back into cold, corporate indifference. "You should be grateful I saved you from cracking your skull open, instead of staring at me like I owe you something."
He didn't wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and walked away, not sparing me a single glance.
I stayed on the floor for a full minute, rubbing my sore hip, the cold marble creeping into my bones, replacing the unexpected warmth I had just been pressed against.
"Grateful? Grateful?!" I hissed under my breath, shaking with humiliation and rage. "You useless, heartless soul!"
I stomped my foot softly, but it still made a statement.
Then all I could do was hurl a storm of insults into the empty air, even though he wasn't there to hear them. I was too angry to care. "May your stock drop! May your coffee always taste burnt! May termites feast on your entire suit collection! You… manipulative… designer-clad demon!"
I clenched my fists, still seething. Did he just claim he was saving me from a fall? I scoffed. "That wasn't kindness. That was just you protecting your precious suit from bloodstains, you heartless, shiny-suited jerk!"
I punched the air once, fueled by full, glorious pettiness.
"I should've known," I muttered. "A man who rejected me for being TWO minutes late wouldn't hesitate to drop me on the floor after practically hugging me."
I took a deep breath, straightened my too-short uniform, and lifted my chin.
"Fine, Leon Verdanis," I whispered, teeth gritted. "You think I'm just an actor? Perfect. The show is only getting started. And you, throwing me on the floor after practically fondling me? Completely unforgivable!"
Then reality hit me, I was still dangerously close to the python room. No, no, no! I dashed out of the corridor.
By the time I stumbled back into the living room, Leon had already left for work. I was panting like I'd just survived a battle. I turned to the other maids, chest heaving, and demanded, "How do you all deal with that heartless soul?"
One of them shrugged. "Nobody crosses his boundaries. As long as you do what he asks and do it right, you won't have a problem."
I scoffed and muttered, "I hope his girlfriend breaks his heart."
The maid blinked. "Mr. President doesn't have a girlfriend."
I raised an eyebrow, glaring at them. "Then I hope his boyfriend breaks his heart."
The maid burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?" I asked, frowning.
"Mr. President doesn't have a heart," she said. "He doesn't believe in love, didn't believe in attachment, didn't believe in anything that took his focus off his empire. Everything he does… It's a one-time thing. No attachments."
I stared at them. "Are you for real?"
The rest of the maids all nodded solemnly.
Then one leaned closer, whispering with a mischievous grin, "He's bisexual. And he mostly… does threesomes. Sometimes… fivesomes."
I shouted, "What? Fivesomes?!"
They nodded again. "The world of Leon Verdanis is darker on the inside than anyone sees from the outside."
I smirked and shook my head. "Wow. Interesting. Very, very interesting," I said, even though inside my brain was screaming, What kind of wildlife documentary have I been hired into?
After hearing all the stories the maids dumped on me about Leon Verdanis, I honestly thought they were exaggerating.
But that night… it didn't even take long to confirm everything.
Mr. President came home with a woman on his left and a tall, stupidly handsome man on his right.
He didn't even glance at us. We greeted him politely, he walked straight past, escorting his guests directly to his bedroom like it was a VIP entrance.
The moment the bedroom door closed, the maids all turned to me in unison.
"We told you," one said.
"And now you've seen it with your own eyes," another added.
Then—God help me—I asked the dumbest question ever.
I knew it was dumb. I still asked.
"So… what exactly are they going in there to do?"
Lan, the head of staff, didn't even blink. "Fight."
I screamed, "FIGHT?!"
One of the maids slapped a hand over my mouth. "He's being sarcastic!"
Lan rolled his eyes and made that hand gesture, the universal sign for sex.
My eyes nearly popped out. "Wait… you mean Mr. President is that strong? He wants to handle two people at once?"
Lan shrugged. "We don't know. You can join them and give us a full report."
I stared at him like he'd just summoned the python again.
Before I could say a word, he clapped his hands loudly.
"Everyone, back to your positions! No one sleeps until Mr. President has been inside for at least two hours. You all know the rules."
Before the maids scattered, a phone rang.
Lan answered, listened, then looked straight at me.
"Becklan, Mr. President said you should come to his room."
Every maid's head snapped toward me.
One whispered, "Ahh… is it a foursome tonight?"
Another snorted. "Our Beck is moving up in the world!"
I glared and hissed. "Foursome my foot!"
With an exaggerated flick of my short uniform dress, I marched off to answer Mr. President like the dramatic idiot they clearly believed I was.