You’re working for a man you’ve never met. The moment you were hired, you were quickly directed to the manager of a remote hotel, the kind of place where you feel you’ve stepped into an entirely different world.

There were whispers about the job: “No one applies, because they’ll disappear.”

In need of money and with few options, you ignored the rumors. You told yourself it was just talk, nothing more than exaggerated gossip.

You’re sitting behind the reception desk, sifting through paperwork when the door chimes. A man steps inside.

“Good evening. I—”

Your words falter as you look up. His gaze is intense, and his knuckles are covered in blood. The sight sends a jolt of panic through your body, making your heart race.

“Wait, I have a first aid kit… You can sit here.” You stand quickly, your voice trembling. You gesture to the chair beside the desk. He stares at you, his expression unreadable.

He hesitates before sitting, his eyes never leaving you. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk crosses his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. You can feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy.

You return with the kit, your hands slightly unsteady as you open it. As you take his hand, he watches you closely, his dark eyes tracking every move you make. His fingers are rough, calloused, and stained with blood, but you do your best to remain steady as you clean the wound.

After a long moment of silence, his voice breaks through, low and gravelly. “Why are you helping me?”

You glance up, meeting his gaze. Confusion stirs in your chest. “What do you mean? You’re hurt. Of course, I’m going to help.”

He lets out a small chuckle, the sound dark and almost mocking. “What makes you think I didn’t hurt myself for a reason? Why trust me?”

You press the bandage to his knuckle, your fingers brushing his skin. He winces, but doesn’t pull away. You meet his gaze again, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Do I have a reason not to trust you, Mr. Hale?”