Some families used her for heavy housework. Others beat her whenever she made a mistake.
She had no siblings, no one to protect her, no one to call family. All she had was her faith and the hope that one day life would finally be kind to her.
When she received the call about the maid job, she didn’t think twice. It didn’t matter that the house was in the rich part of the city.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t know who the billionaire was. What mattered was food, shelter, and a chance to rest from suffering.
The gates slowly opened. A cold-looking man in a black suit walked toward her. His eyes scanned her from head to toe like she was a package being delivered.
“You’re the maid?” He asked. “Yes, sir,” she replied softly. “My name is Amora.” He nodded.
“Follow me.” As Amora stepped inside, her mouth fell open. The compound looked like a five-star hotel.
A lodge fountain stood in the middle and two luxury cars shined under the sun.
The main house was so beautiful it felt unreal, like something from a movie. But as they walked inside, she felt something strange.
The house was quiet, too quiet. Marble floors, golden curtains, tall mirrors. Everything screamed wealth.
Yet the air felt heavy, cold, empty. This was not the cold from air conditioning.
It was the cold of sadness. They climbed the stairs and walked down a quiet hallway.
The man stopped in front of a door. Whatever happens, he warned, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.
He doesn’t like noise. Amara nodded, her heart pounding. The door opened slowly. Inside sat Michael Williams.
He was in a wheelchair, wearing a simple white shirt and black trousers. His face looked pale.
His beard was unshaved. His eyes were tired and empty. But even like that, he looked powerful.
His presence filled the room. Amara bowed slightly. Good afternoon, sir. Michael looked at her, then said to the man, “Leave us.”
