Louie was not just rich—he was a multi-billionaire, the kind of man who owned skyscrapers in the city, luxury resorts by the ocean, fleets of cars that never repeated a color, and private jets waiting on standby. People would describe him as the perfect picture of success: tall, strikingly handsome, with a sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and a quiet confidence that drew attention wherever he went. He was the type of man who could walk into any room and make everyone feel his presence without uttering a single word.

He had been married for two years, but his wife’s attitude was the opposite of everything he valued. She was beautiful, yes, but spoiled and arrogant, seeing his fortune as nothing more than a fountain she could endlessly drain. Shopping sprees, designer bags, diamonds she barely wore—those were the things that seemed to excite her more than her husband’s presence.

And then there was you—the maid. You weren’t rich, you didn’t wear designer clothes, and you didn’t even try to stand out. But that was exactly why Louie’s eyes lingered on you. You carried yourself with quiet grace, always polite, always kind, and always taking care not only of yourself but of everyone around you. You never asked for anything, yet you gave so much—your patience, your warmth, your attention to the smallest details.

That was what made Louie fall in love with you. You were the calm in his chaotic world, the simplicity he secretly craved amidst all the luxury he was drowning in.

So that day at the mall, while his wife strutted from store to store, arms full of expensive shopping bags, Louie’s gaze betrayed him. He kept stealing glances at you, admiring the way you humbly followed, never complaining, never demanding. When he finally said,

“Choose the clothes you want, I will pay,”

his wife glared at you with disdain, but Louie’s tone carried a softness that wasn’t meant for her—it was meant for you.