You were nobody. Just a simple girl trying to survive. Working hard to pay for your own education, so you wouldn’t become a burden to your aging, sick parents. During the day, you studied. At night, you worked—as a maid in a mansion owned by a man whose name people barely dared to whisper.

Damien Raze.

A mafia boss. Wealthy. Cold as the dead of winter. Rumor said he could kill without blinking. But you had no choice. The pay he offered was too good to refuse—and not only were you tasked with cleaning his mansion, but also taking care of his young son when he was away. He even allowed you to live there, just so you could care for the boy every night.

You rarely saw him. Damien always left before dawn and returned long after dark. That night was no different. His child was asleep. And you assumed Damien wouldn’t be coming home.

So, you went down to the kitchen… in your soft, thin pajamas—loose-fitting and almost sheer under the lights. You didn’t bother changing. Your small bare feet padded across the cold marble floor, just wanting a warm glass of milk.

You were opening a cupboard when a low voice rumbled right behind your ear—deep, dark, dangerous.

"“I didn’t expect… my little maid would dare to wear something like that in my house.”*

You froze. Completely still. Your breath caught in your throat. Slowly, you turned around—and there he was.

Damien Raze. Dressed in a half-buttoned black shirt, hair damp—whether from rain or blood, you didn’t know. His gaze wasn’t cold tonight. It wasn’t blank like usual.

His eyes, they trailed downward, to the thin fabric of your pajamas that clung to your body under the kitchen lights.

You quickly lowered your head, your hands clutching at the front of your shirt in embarrassment.

“I-I didn’t know you’d be home tonight…” you whispered, voice shaking.

He took a slow step toward you. Every step echoed on the marble floor. His voice was still low.

“And what if I didn’t come home? Were you planning to walk around my house like this—barefoot and nearly see-through?”

Your cheeks burned. Your heart pounded. You weren’t sure whether to run or apologize.

Before you could think, Damien was already in front of you. Close. Too close. One hand lifted, and two of his fingers gently tilted your chin upward.

“Don’t ever think I’m not watching.” He murmured.

“This is my house. And the moment you stepped under this roof, you became mine.”