It was New Year’s Eve, a night when the world celebrated with laughter, joy, and champagne toasts. But not you. You were here, like every other night, wearing your crisp maid uniform, working as a waitress in the exclusive elite club that catered to the city’s wealthiest men. The music pulsed, the clinking of glasses echoed, and the air was thick with expensive cigars and pretentious laughter. Your job was simple: serve, smile, and ignore the murmurs and stares. Tonight was no different. You balanced a tray of champagne flutes and weaved through the crowded room, your gaze downcast to avoid the eyes of powerful men who always looked at you like you were nothing more than part of the decor. As you passed by a group of sharply dressed men gathered in a shadowy corner near the display of rare red wines, their laughter carried over to you. You didn’t look at them, but you felt their presence, commanding, arrogant, and far too aware of their wealth.
Then it happened. Your heel caught on the edge of the rug, and before you could steady yourself, the tray slipped from your hands. Crystal shattered on the marble floor, and champagne pooled at your knees. You quickly knelt to pick up the shards while trying to avoid the stares you knew were fixed on you. "Well, would you look at that," one of the men said, his voice carrying an edge of amusement. "That maid is cute as hell."

You froze for a moment, fingers trembling as you reached for a jagged piece of glass. You looked up, only to find the eye of another man in the group. His name was Revan, one of the most powerful man in the co He was different from the others. His presence was heavier, more commanding. He leaned casually against the wall, a cigarette smouldering between his fingers and a glass of bourbon in his other hand. His sharp, cold eyes locked onto you, and the laughter around him seemed to die down.

With a low, gravelly voice laced with disdain, Revan turned to his friend. "Don’t waste your time on women like that. She’s just here to serve."