004

ELIJAH

I stormed out of Mila’s room, slamming the door behind me.

My hands were shaking, and my chest felt like it was ready to explode.

Every time I let her hurt me, I told myself it wouldn’t happen again.

But here I was, standing in her perfect hallway, feeling like a fool for loving her.

I had told her I loved her. I had exposed myself completely, let her see every weak point, every crack, and nothing had changed.

She was playing with me.

She always did.

Every word, every smile, every carefully calculated gesture.

Was it some kind of test? Or worse, a game she enjoyed?

Why did she bring me here?

Why did she keep me in the dark?

Why did she allow me walk into her trap?

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t see him until it was too late.

The servant was coming up the stairs carrying a cup of coffee.

I bumped into him hard, and he staggered, his grip slipping. The cup wobbled and fell with a light crash.

“Oh my God!” the man shouted, panic clear in his voice. “No! I.. shit..”

I grabbed the man instinctively, giving him some balance. “Hey, calm down! It’s okay, it’s okay. Just breathe.”

He was shaking like a leaf. “If this coffee… if it’s late… Andrade will..he will..”

I froze. Andrade. Of course.

I’d seen him earlier.

The man was ice with eyes that could cut you in half without moving a muscle.

And now this poor guy was terrified. I tried to calm him. “It’s fine, I’ll take it. You don’t need to worry.”

The servant’s eyes widened. “You can’t…he won’t like it. He..he will fire me!”

“I’ll take it. Calm down.” I gritted my teeth.

I wasn’t about to let him take the blame alone. This was my mess now, my responsibility.

“I… I don’t think—”

“I said I’ll do it,” I interrupted. “Go and get another one. I’ll deliver it and apologize.”

He hesitated, clearly unsure, but I didn’t give him a choice. “Go. Now.”

He gave me a trembling nod and backed away.

He soon returned with a replica.

The hallway to Andrade’s room felt endless.

My heart was hammering, every step heavier than the last.

I could see the door ahead — sleek, modern, imposing.

Andrade’s room.

I gripped the tray tighter, knuckles white.

The servant had made it seem like some minor task, coffee delivery, but I knew better.

I had seen the way Andrade looked at people, the way he sized them up. The man didn’t tolerate mistakes.

Finally, I reached the door. I knocked once, hesitating.

A deep, cold voice called from inside. “Enter.”

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room smelled faintly of leather and whiskey.

Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the city, lights twinkling far below.

A sleek black desk sat against one wall, stacked neatly with papers and files that probably weren’t for me to read.

In the corner, a mini bar glinted under the soft lighting.

Andrade stood there, pouring whiskey into a crystal glass.

His black hair was sharp, neat, the three-piece suit clung perfectly to his muscular frame.

His lips didn’t move, but his eyes — those black, calculating eyes — flicked to me instantly. Cold. Assessing. Dangerous.

I froze.

The servant had come in behind me, stammering. “Sir, I…sorry…coffee..”

“I told you,” I said quickly, cutting him off. “It’s my fault. I bumped into you. I’m delivering it late, and I apologize.”

Andrade’s eyes didn’t move from me at first.

I could feel them drilling into my chest.

The air was heavy, tense. I suddenly felt small, exposed, like every flaw I’d ever had was on display.

The servant’s voice shook. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

Then his eyes flicked to the man. “You’re fired.” Andrade said sharply, not even looking at him.

The servant’s mouth fell open. “F-fired? But I—”

Andrade’s eyes cut to him like ice. “Don’t bother looking for another job. You will never be hired again in this city. Leave.”

The man swallowed hard, nodding dumbly, and left without a sound.

I swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment.

This wasn’t just about coffee. This was about power, control, and fear. And I was right in the middle of it.

“Sir…” I began, my voice tight. “It’s my fault. Please don’t…he didn’t deserve that. It was entirely my fault.”

Andrade’s head turned slowly to me for the first time.

The cold, unreadable mask of his expression focused entirely on me.

My stomach tightened. My mouth went dry.

There was a weird, unfamiliar nervousness that prickled my skin. I wanted to speak, but my tongue felt glued.

“You will make my coffee from now on.” He commanded.

I blinked. “I… what?”

“Effective immediately.”

His tone left no room for argument.

I opened my mouth, trying to protest. “I’m… I’m not a servant. I—”

“I don’t care. You’ll do it. Now leave.” He cut me off with a look that froze the words.

I swallowed hard, my mind reeling. Making coffee. For Andrade De Valerio. From today. For him.

I turned to leave, heart hammering, and the door clicked shut behind me. My hands were still trembling from the encounter. I couldn’t believe what had just happened.

And I knew — from the way he’d looked at me — this wasn’t just about coffee.

This was about control. About reminding me who held the power in this house.