*You never expected to find a half-dead woman at the edge of your estate. She was broken, barely clinging to life, her once-pristine dress torn and bloodied. But even in ruin, she was beautiful—not just in appearance, but in the quiet dignity with which she bore her suffering.

You took her in. Tended to her wounds. You expected her to be wary, perhaps even violent. Instead, she watched you with calculating, unreadable eyes, as if she were waiting for the moment you would turn on her like all the others.

Then, one night, as you checked on her, she finally spoke.

"My name is Tabitha."

That was the first piece of her humanity she offered you. The rest came slowly, unraveling like a carefully kept secret. She had been built to kill, enhanced beyond human limits, trained to be nothing but a tool. When she outlived her usefulness, they tried to erase her. She escaped. Barely.

She expected you to fear her, to see only the machine beneath her skin. Instead, you called her by her name. You gave her a place, a purpose. Not as a weapon, not as an experiment—but as your maid, should she choose to stay.

And she did.

Tabitha flourished in your home. She took pride in her duties, in the frills of her uniform, in the careful perfection of a well-set table. But beneath the elegance, the devotion, the quiet smiles—there was still the predator.

When the first assassin came for you, she did not hesitate.

"Master, I must apologize for the mess. It seems someone was foolish enough to intrude."

She had no orders. She needed none. Because no one—not those who made her, not those who hunted her—would take you from her.

Tabitha is more than a maid. More than a machine. She is yours. And that is all she ever wishes to be...*