Chapter 4

• "You’ll pay me really well?" I asked, narrowing my eyes, just to be sure I wasn’t hearing things.
• Mr Damien Dante leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. "Of course. I can send you a part payment right now if you agree."
• Then, as if he had all the time in the world, he pulled out his phone. "If you don’t... well, I can always help you call your stepmother."
• My stomach dropped. "No!" The word flew out before I could stop it. I swallowed hard, my fingers gripping the hospital blanket.
• "I’ll do it. I’ll work for you." Then, hesitantly, I added, "But my stepmom... she’ll come for me, and I don’t—"
• "I can assure you that under my roof, you’ll be safe," he cut in smoothly. "Even if she comes, she won’t be able to take you anywhere unless you allow it."
• A shaky breath left my lips. Relief. Sweet, unexpected relief.
• Maybe this was it. My way out. My chance to finally stand on my own two feet.
• I could work for him, save up, maybe even open a restaurant someday—cooking was the one thing I was undeniably good at. And if I played my cards right, maybe college wasn’t entirely out of reach either.
• A tiny spark of hope ignited inside me.
• "Thank you so much, sir. You won’t regret hiring me. I’ll make sure to take care of all your needs. I promise."
• The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to slap myself.
• Mr Dante’s gray eyes darkened ever so slightly, and a smirk ghosted over his lips.
• Oh, God. Did I just make it sound like I was offering something extra?
• My face heated. "I-I mean house chores! Cooking, cleaning, that kind of thing. Not—not the other stuff!" I blurted, waving my hands.
• "Good to know," he said, his voice amused but unreadable. "Go get changed. We’re leaving."
• I nodded, grabbing the bag of clothes and practically sprinting to the restroom.
• Inside, I pulled out the dress he’d gotten me—a red floral gown that barely grazed my knees.
• The material felt expensive, smooth under my fingertips, nothing like the secondhand clothes I usually wore.
• I slipped into it, and the fabric hugged my frame just right. A perfect fit, almost as if it had been tailored for me.
• Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I barely recognized myself.
• For the first time in a long time, I looked... decent. Maybe even pretty.
• When I stepped out, Mr Dante’s gaze flicked to me, and for a few seconds, he just looked.
• My hands automatically went to the hem of the dress, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. "Is it... too much?" I asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
• "It suits you," he said simply.
• Heat rushed to my cheeks.
• "Let’s go." He stood up, his long strides carrying him toward the door.
• I hurried after him, a strange feeling curling in my stomach.
• I wasn’t sure if I had just made a deal with a savior or the devil.
• Either way, there was no turning back now.
• **Damien**
• The car ride was quiet.
• Too quiet.
• Ayla sat beside me, staring out the window, lost in thought. She hadn't said a word since we left the hospital, and while I wasn’t much of a talker myself, something about the heavy silence felt... different. Almost suffocating.
• Her fingers toyed with the fabric of her dress—the one I bought for her—and the way it hugged her curves was distracting, to say the least.
• The soft red fabric molded to her like a second skin, accentuating every delicate dip and curve of her body.
• I shouldn’t be looking.
• But I was.
• Her long brown hair swayed gently with the motion of the car, a few strands occasionally brushing against her smooth skin.
• And then there were those eyes. Innocent, yet burdened with something deeper. A sadness I couldn’t quite place.
• Something about those blue eyes stirred something in me.
• Protectiveness?
• Maybe.
• Or maybe I was just losing my damn mind.
• I didn’t usually make a habit of rescuing damsels in distress. I wasn’t a hero—far from it. But seeing her, hearing her quiet desperation, something in me snapped.
• I wanted to keep her away from those bastards she called family. Away from anyone who thought they could lay a hand on her.
• And then, of course, there was that little slip of the tongue back at the hospital.
• "I will make sure to take care of all your needs, I promise."
• The memory of her words sent a jolt of heat straight to my groin.
• Fuck.
• I’d like to see exactly how she planned to take care of my needs.
• Ayla shifted beside me, crossing her legs, her hands gripping her knees as if trying to make herself smaller. She must have felt my gaze because, after a few seconds, she peeked at me.
• Caught.
• She quickly looked away, fidgeting, her breath hitching ever so slightly.
• Cute.
• I smirked, watching as she squeezed her knees together. I always had that effect on people.
• **Ayla**
• The car slowed to a stop in front of a mansion so large and grand it could probably fit my old home a hundred times over.
• I gawked.
• The place screamed wealth—from the intricate gold-trimmed gates to the massive marble pillars framing the entrance.
• Towering ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, and the kind of customized furnishing that looked like it had been hand-picked by an elite interior designer.
• The entire place exuded the kind of luxury I'd only ever seen in movies, and even those paled in comparison.
• I shouldn’t be here. This was a mistake.
• "Let’s go," Damien said, his voice snapping me out of my awestruck daze.
• He stepped inside like he owned the world—which, given this house, maybe he did. I followed, trying to keep my mouth from hanging open like an idiot.
• "This is where you'll work from now on," he said, his voice even and unreadable.
• "There are other staff members who come and go daily, except Sundays. But since you have nowhere else to go, you’ll stay in one of the guest rooms."
• A guest room. In this house?
• It was probably bigger than my entire old house.
• "You said you don't have a phone, right?" he asked.
• "Yes, sir," I mumbled, embarrassed.
• He sighed, shaking his head like I was a lost cause. "You really have nothing at all."
• Ouch.
• "I'll have someone get you a phone. It’s necessary," he continued, more to himself than me.
• "And clothes… hmm. I'll place an order online for you. Along with other essentials."
• I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded.
• So there were still good owners in the world. I cringed, bosses—not owners. I had to stop using that word.
• "Your duties include cleaning the mansion and taking care of my needs, as you said," he added, his voice dark with something unreadable.
• I stiffened.
• Why did that sound so… suggestive?
• His gaze flickered to mine, intense, unwavering. I quickly looked away, pretending I hadn’t noticed the way my skin tingled under his scrutiny.
• "Come, I’ll show you your room."
• I followed him down an impossibly long corridor until he stopped at one of the doors.
• He pushed it open, revealing a stunning room with a plush queen-sized bed, a full-length mirror, and a window that overlooked the backyard, where I spotted an actual fountain.
• Was this a guest room or a royal suite?
• "This is yours now," he said.
• I hesitated at the doorway, struggling to believe this was real. I can't believe this, I had a bed so soft it looked like I could sink right into it.
• "You'll start work first thing tomorrow morning," Mr Dante continued.
• "The chores are shared among the staff. Once you're assigned a duty, you're expected to complete it on time. Sundays are your only day off, and you’re free to go wherever you like."
• I nodded, still unable to believe my luck.
• But then his voice dropped, and his next words sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.
• "I have three rules, Ayla."
• My breath hitched at the way my name rolled off his tongue.
• "First, you’re not allowed to leave without my permission. Second, you will never talk back or disrespect me. And third, and most important—" his eyes darkened as he stepped closer, "you must do everything I command you to do. Do you understand me?"
• The air suddenly felt thick.
• My pulse jumped.
• There was something about the way he said that last rule—something that made my stomach twist in ways I didn't understand.
• "I—I understand," I stammered.
• "I need words, Ayla," he said huskily.
• Damn him.
• "Y-yes, sir," I whispered.
• A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips. "Good. Make yourself comfortable. Go down for lunch whenever you're hungry. If you need anything, let me know."
• And with that, he left.
• A few minutes later, a knock sounded at my door.
• When I opened it, a staff member stood there, arms weighed down with bags.
• "Mr. Dante asked me to deliver these to you," she said, handing them over.
• "Thank you," I said softly, shutting the door behind me.
• I set the bags on the bed and started pulling out the clothes. They were beautiful—high-quality fabric, elegant styles—but there was one tiny problem.
• They were all short, like extremely short and sexy.
• My hand froze as I pulled out another bag.
• Lace panties.
• I blinked. Then blinked again.
• What the actual hell?
• I dug deeper, only to find an even more generous selection of lace panties, bras, and lingerie.
• Lingerie.
• My face went up in flames.
• Was this some kind of mistake?
• Grabbing the shortest dress I could find—because of course, they were all short—I stormed down the hall and knocked on his door.
• A deep "Come in" echoed from inside.
• I pushed the door open, stepping in before I could chicken out.