Your eyes burn.
“You were hidden. That’s not the same.”
He looks at you like you are the only person in the world who knows the difference.
Then he whispers, “Stay.”
You should leave.
You know that.
The hallway is dark. The mansion is dangerous. You are a maid. He is the heir. People like you do not get love stories with people like him unless someone pays for it later.
But you stay.
You sit beside his bed until he falls asleep, his hand still loosely holding yours.
The next morning, Damian smiles at you across the breakfast room.
And you know he knows.
The attack comes two nights later.
You are carrying folded linens through the second-floor hallway when someone grabs your arm and pulls you into the storage room.
Damian.
His hand clamps over your mouth before you can scream.
“Little maid,” he whispers. “You’ve been very busy.”
You struggle, but he is stronger.
“You think my brother cares about you? You think if he walks again, he’ll marry the help and move to some little apartment with you?”
Your eyes fill with angry tears.
He smiles.
“You’re entertainment. A rescue project. Once he gets his legs back, he’ll remember who he is.”
You bite his hand.
He curses and shoves you back against the shelves.
“Listen carefully,” he says, his face twisted. “You are going to stop going to his room. You are going to quit by Friday. And if you tell anyone, I’ll have your family evicted from that rotting house in East L.A. Your father owes money. Did you know that?”
Your blood turns to ice.
“Oh yes,” Damian says. “I know everything about you.”
The door opens.
Mr. Sterling stands there.
For once, his perfect butler mask is gone.
“Step away from her, Mr. Damian.”
Damian laughs.
“Or what?”
Mr. Sterling holds up his phone.
The screen is recording.
Damian’s face changes.
“You old idiot.”
“Perhaps,” Sterling says. “But this old idiot has excellent cloud backup.”
“I was dead before you came.”
