CHAPTER 2

"Emma, wake up." She felt someone gently shaking her shoulder. Emma slowly opened her eyes to see Martha standing beside her bed. The head maid had kindly allowed her to rest for the remainder of the day.

"It's time for work, dear. You have to wake up," Martha said softly.

Emma nodded and pushed herself up from the mattress. It was much more comfortable than her old bed. She went into the small bathroom and washed her face to clear her head.

"Get ready and wear this." Martha handed her an outfit.

Emma stared at the garments in confusion. "What's this, Martha?" she asked.

Martha stopped what she was doing and turned to face her. "Oh, it's your uniform. All the maids wear this while they work," she explained with a warm smile before leaving the room.

Emma breathed a deep sigh. Even though just looking at the outfit made her uncomfortable, she forced herself to put it on. It was quite revealing. The hem barely reached her knees, and it was a V-neck dress that exposed a significant portion of her chest. The tight waistband hugged her curves, the fabric spilling down her thighs. She attempted to adjust the neckline to conceal her cleavage, but it didn't help much. Finally, she decided to leave her long hair down, hoping the cascading locks would draw attention away from the plunging neckline. Besides, she was accustomed to working freely with her hair down.

She quickly combed through her hair and slipped on the socks and heels Martha had provided. She had never worn heels before. At first, she had a terrible time balancing, but after a few practice steps, she gradually learned how to walk in them. Still, she silently prayed she wouldn't trip and break her ankles. Glancing at the clock, she realized she was running late.

Emma dashed out of her room in a hurry. She had to take her time descending the grand staircase; the floors were incredibly slick, and navigating them in heels was treacherous. The floors weren't slippery because they were wet, but rather because of the polished, flawless marble they were made of.

She raced downstairs as fast as she gracefully could, frantically searching for the kitchen. Finding it was difficult; the home was massive, with countless branching hallways and closed doors. It took her about five minutes to finally locate the kitchen. When she walked in, she noticed Martha standing with a group of young women, all dressed in the exact same attire as her.

They must be the other maids, Emma thought.

"Oh, Emma, dear! Here you are," Martha called out. She turned to the rest of the staff. "Okay, get back to work, girls." The other maids nodded and quickly dispersed.

"What do I have to do, Martha?" Emma asked, unsure of her duties.

"Oh, yes! Since it is your first day, you will be formally introduced to Mr. and Mrs. King first, and then I will assign you your tasks," she beamed.

"Okay," Emma muttered nervously. She already knew she had to be incredibly careful around her new employers.

"The Kings will be coming home from work soon. You need to be ready because they despise tardiness. Mister King, in particular, does not tolerate maids who look messy or fragile. You must be extremely careful not to do anything foolish in front of any of them—but especially him," Martha warned seriously.

Emma nodded, her anxiety spiking. She was going to meet the owners of the estate in less than twenty-four hours.

Later, Martha shared more details about Mr. and Mrs. King, quietly warning Emma that Mister King was known to be a violent and easily enraged man. Emma sighed heavily, sinking into a chair next to the kitchen counter.

"Who else is in the King family?" she asked quietly.

Martha stopped chopping vegetables and turned around. "Well, the heirs of this house don't live here full-time. They all prefer to live on their own, but they do visit occasionally."

"Oh." Emma rose from the chair and took another glance out into the hallway. From where she stood, she could see the grand dining room. Even under the dim glow of the evening lights, the mansion appeared more beautiful than it had earlier that day. The house was truly stunning.

"Can you tell me about them?" Emma asked.

"Sure, dear," Martha smiled. "Let's talk about Miss Sofia first. Honestly, I can only describe her as a spoiled, rich brat who doesn't care about anyone. She is incredibly rude and stubborn. You have to be very, very careful when you're around her." Emma gulped.

"Then comes Lucas. Sofia and Lucas are fraternal twins. He is exactly like his sister—a spoiled brat. He is always out late with his friends and never comes home on time. But, like Sofia, he technically still lives here at his parents' house."

"Are they the eldest children?" Emma inquired.

Martha shook her head. "No, dear, they are the youngest. They have two older brothers."

"Who are they?" Emma questioned.

Martha paused for a second, opening her mouth to respond, when a sharp sound interrupted her. She bolted from the kitchen immediately.

Left alone, Emma slowly wandered into the grand hallway. The house's design featured stunning marble mosaic floors and gold-painted accent walls. It was all so lovely, but she didn't dare touch anything. Her nerves were entirely frayed; she was terrified of accidentally breaking a priceless artifact or soiling the pristine surfaces. She admired the living room sofas, noting their highly modern design. Even though she had never purchased anything expensive in her life, she had enough sense to recognize high-end luxury when she saw it.

As she wandered near the base of the staircase, a large framed photograph caught her eye. It was a portrait of a teenage boy, likely between the ages of fourteen and sixteen. His chin was held high in an arrogant tilt, and his lips were pressed into a narrow line. His eyes were so intensely dark that she could envision storm clouds swirling within them, complementing his sharp, strong jawline. She found herself utterly captivated by his elegant, intense features.

The sudden, jarring ring of the doorbell jolted her out of her reverie. Glancing at the grand clock on the wall, she was shocked to realize five minutes had passed. She hadn't even noticed she'd been staring at the boy's portrait for so long. She bolted for the front doors as the visitor impatiently rang the bell several more times.

Oh God, this place is so big!

Even though she was running as fast as her heels would allow, it took entirely too long to reach the grand entryway. Whoever was standing outside was clearly irritated. She eventually made it to the heavy double doors and attempted to yank them open. But they wouldn't budge. She couldn't figure out why the doors wouldn't open. What kind of lock system do they use? What on earth is this?

She grasped the heavy metal handle and pulled with all her might, but it did nothing except hurt her hand. Suddenly, her finger brushed against a small, hidden sensor panel, and the massive door clicked, swinging open automatically. She exhaled a heavy breath of relief as she pulled the door wider.

"What the fuck were you doing?" a deep, furious voice boomed from the shadows outside.

The aggressive shout shocked Emma so badly she nearly tripped backward. She trembled violently as she stared at the towering silhouette of the man standing on the porch. Because it was so dark outside, she couldn't make out his face.

"Who the hell are you? Why weren't you opening the door?" the man shouted again as he stormed into the brightly lit foyer.

As he stepped into the light, Emma dropped her head instantly, terrified.

"Who are you?" he demanded again, his tone deadly.

Emma felt as if he were aiming a loaded gun right between her eyes. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on her shoes, completely paralyzed. Her eyes filled with hot tears, and her mind went entirely blank.

"Look at me," he whispered, his thick, dangerous tone sending a fresh wave of terror through her. She let out a pathetic whimper.

He snarled in frustration. Reaching out, he grabbed her chin in a firm grip, forcefully tilting her head up until she had no choice but to face him. Emma shifted her frightened gaze to meet his. The man had piercing, icy grey eyes that seemed to glow menacingly under the chandelier's light. But for a brief, strange moment, she thought she saw that icy gaze soften just a fraction as he studied her face with a determined, unreadable expression.

"S-sir... c-can you le-let me g-go?" Emma finally managed to stutter.

Instead of releasing her, his grip on her chin tightened, and his gaze darkened once again. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. He stared down at her intently, looking as though he had no intention of ever letting her go. She completely froze, unable to move a single muscle under his intense scrutiny. Gasping softly, she tore her eyes away from his face, dropping her gaze to the expensive dark navy-blue jacket he wore. She could clearly hear his teeth grinding in anger. He opened his mouth to say something, but a panicked voice interrupted him.

"M-master!" Martha stumbled into the foyer, looking breathless.

What? Master? Is he the owner of the house? Oh, my goodness, what have I gotten myself into?

His grip slowly loosened, and after a few agonizing seconds, he completely released her chin. Emma exhaled a shaky breath of relief, though her body still trembled with fear.

"I'm r-really sorry f-for this, Master. Sh-she is the new girl here, she doesn't know how things work yet. I-I'm so s—"

"Bring me my drink," the man snapped coldly, cutting Martha off. He turned his chilling gaze back to Emma. "And teach her to obey my orders."

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, fighting with everything she had not to break down sobbing in front of him.

"Yes, Master. I'll teach her everything," Martha replied softly.

Without another word, the man turned on his heel and walked away. Only when Emma was absolutely certain he was gone did the silent tears finally spill over her eyelashes, streaming down her flushed cheeks. She didn't know which terrified her more: the very real prospect of losing her job on the first day, or the suffocating, deadly aura that man exuded. For a terrifying minute, she was absolutely convinced she was about to be thrown out onto the street.

"Oh, dear, please don't cry. Everything is okay now," Martha cooed, wrapping her arms around the trembling girl. "What happened, my child? Did he say something to you?" she asked with deep concern.

"H-he just a-asked me t-to look i-into his ey-eyes," Emma stuttered through her tears.

Martha sighed sympathetically. "My child, you must listen immediately when he tells you to do something, okay?"

Emma nodded weakly.

"Okay, come along now. Let's go, and I'll show you what you need to do for the rest of the evening," Martha stated, gently leading Emma back toward the safety of the kitchen.

When they arrived, Martha instructed Emma to prepare dinner for the family and handle the dishes afterward. That would be her only task for the night.

"What should I make for dinner, Martha?" Emma asked quietly, her voice still barely above a whisper.

"Well, let me give you the menu for tonight. I assume you know how to cook?" Martha inquired.

Emma confirmed that she could. While she wasn't a master chef, Miss Garcia's patient culinary lessons over the years had paid off. Despite her young age, she was perfectly capable of preparing a wide variety of traditional meals.

Emma looked down at the menu Martha handed her.

Chicken Piccata

Chicken Zucchini Pasta

Mushroom Soup

Emma knew exactly how to make the piccata and the soup, but she had absolutely no idea what zucchini pasta was. She politely asked Martha to assist her with the pasta dish.

An hour later, dinner was served. Everyone was seated at the grand dining table—including the terrifying man from the hallway. Martha handed Emma a heavy silver tray loaded with plates and instructed her to serve the table. Emma was completely paralyzed by the thought of walking back out there and facing him again. But she had no choice. She was a maid, and she had to comply.

She gripped the edges of the tray as tightly as she could, her hands shaking violently. She entered the dining room as silently as a ghost, carefully placing the hot meals on the elaborate table. She could feel the heavy weight of everyone's eyes on her, making her skin prickle with deep unease.

The terrifying man wasn't alone. He was seated with an incredibly stunning brunette woman and a handsome young man with dark black hair. Emma guessed they were the infamous Sofia and Lucas. The elder Mr. and Mrs. King were seated at the heads of the table.

After successfully placing the last plate, she turned around, desperate to escape back to the kitchen.

"Wait."

The familiar, thick voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded harshly. "You work here. I pay you to work for me. You will stand right here while we eat our dinner, in case we need anything."

Emma forced down her rising panic and nodded submissively. "Yes, sir," she whispered. She threw a desperate glance at Martha, who gave