Part I: The offer
Bella lay in bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling where the old paint peeled in thin, curling strips—tiny betrayals of time. It mirrored her insides. Cracked. Quietly falling apart.
Another week.
Another silence.
No calls. No interviews. No future.
She refreshed her inbox again. A ritual at this point. Nothing but corporate condolences and polite rejections.
> "We regret to inform you..." "Your application was not successful."
At 25, she was still living in her childhood room — the pink floral wallpaper mocking her daily. Her dream of being a creative director felt like a fantasy she'd invented to survive college.
Outside her door, she could hear the soft clink of her mother's teacup and the low murmur of a morning news report. Her mum rarely said anything, but the disappointment in her eyes didn't need words.
So when Bella's phone buzzed and flashed Luisa Calling, she answered it like a lifeline.
"Bella," Luisa chirped, her voice buzzing with urgency. "I'm coming over. I have news. Good news."
Bella groaned into the pillow. "If it's another pyramid scheme, I swear—"
"Just wait. I'll be there in ten."
Luisa burst into Bella's room ten minutes later, her energy filling the space like a summer breeze. She wore that self-satisfied grin Bella knew too well, one that always meant trouble… or salvation.
She tossed a warm pastry onto Bella's lap.
Bella narrowed her eyes. "You're feeding me before delivering bad news?"
"Just shut up and thank me." Luisa plopped beside her. "I found you a job."
Bella blinked, her heart giving a cautious flutter. "A job? Doing what?"
Luisa hesitated. "Well… cleaning."
Bella stared. "Cleaning what exactly?"
Luisa cleared her throat. "Davos DeLaney's mansion."
Silence.
Then—
"The Davos DeLaney?" Bella almost choked on the pastry. "The reclusive tech billionaire who allegedly made an investor cry during a board meeting?"
"The very one. His housekeeper quit again—apparently, no one lasts more than a week. But it's high pay, low interaction, and he's barely ever home."
Bella swallowed. Shame burned hot in her chest. She was a trained designer. She wasn't supposed to be scrubbing bathtubs.
But then she remembered her mum's weary eyes. The unpaid bills stacked on the kitchen counter. The quiet panic that haunted her every night.
She looked down at her chipped nails.
"…When do I start?"
--The Mansion
The DeLaney estate wasn't just big — it was intimidating. A fortress of steel and stone and glass rising like a modern cathedral beyond a wrought-iron gate. Bella's breath hitched as she walked the long, tree-lined driveway. The quiet was thick here. Every footstep echoed louder than it should.
At the entrance, a stern security guard gave her a look that suggested she didn't belong.
"I'm Bella Costa," she said, forcing her voice steady. "I was told to report here?"
The guard studied her like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. Then he tapped his earpiece, murmured something, and the gates slowly opened.
Bella muttered a soft, "Wow," under her breath as she walked the rest of the way. The closer she got, the more surreal it felt — as if she were walking into a story that didn't belong to her.
By the time she reached the front door, sweat beaded her forehead. She rang the bell, chest tightening.
The door opened.
A warm smile greeted her — a woman in her sixties with silver-streaked hair and soft eyes.
"Hi, I'm Bella Costa."
"Welcome, dear. I'm Mama Kate. Come in, come in."
The warmth of the woman immediately soothed some of Bella's nerves. She stepped inside — and the world shifted.
The interior was breathtaking.
Modern, minimalist, and coldly beautiful. Marble floors. Towering ceilings. Walls of glass and steel. It was like stepping into a museum curated by someone who didn't believe in fingerprints or joy.
Bella sat gingerly on the edge of a sleek leather sofa, taking in the intimidating beauty.
And then she heard the steps.
Heavy. Measured.
She looked up — and her breath caught in her throat.
He came down the stairs like a shadow descending from marble heaven.
Davos DeLaney.
He was even more striking in person — tall, broad-shouldered, and devastatingly handsome in a cold, untouchable way. Tousled black hair. Steel-gray eyes that held no warmth. A white t-shirt clung to his frame, paired with tailored brown shorts that somehow didn't make him look casual, just commanding.
He didn't pause.
He didn't smile.
He just looked straight at her and said, "Bella Costa?"
She shot to her feet. "Yes."
"I don't tolerate lateness, noise, or unnecessary conversation. Do the job. Stay invisible. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir—"
"Get her to clean my room," he said to Mama Kate, already walking away. "Let's hope she's not incompetent like the rest."
The door shut behind him with a final, echoing click.
Bella stood frozen, her spine rigid. Her cheeks burned with a heat that wasn't just embarrassment — it was rage, too. And fear.
Mama Kate gave her an apologetic smile. "Come, dear."
--His Room
They walked down a long, silent hallway.
The silence here wasn't peaceful. It was oppressive. Watchful. Like the house itself was holding its breath.
Paintings hung on the walls — all abstract, all sharp and strange. Bella couldn't tell if they were brilliant or horrifying.
Mama Kate stopped before a pair of tall double doors. They were carved dark wood, inlaid with silver patterns that shimmered under the chandeliers like veins of moonlight.
She pushed the doors open slowly.
"Welcome to Sir Davos's room," she said, almost reverently.
Bella stepped inside and immediately understood why.
It wasn't just a room. It was a declaration.
The walls were stone and glass. The bed, massive and centered, dressed in black linen with hospital-corner perfection. Bookshelves towered on either side — every book aligned like soldiers. The scent of cedar, spice, and something darker hung thick in the air, curling around her like a whisper of him.
To the side, a fireplace sat beneath a moody painting. A single leather armchair and table stood nearby, holding a book so pristine it could've been a prop. A vintage lighter rested beside it like a warning.
There was no mess.
No warmth.
Only control.
"Bella," Mama Kate's voice broke the stillness, "this is where you'll work most often. He notices everything. A wrinkle on the bed, a book a centimeter off, dust on the window latch — he'll know."
Bella turned in a slow circle, heart pounding. There was nothing to clean.
But that wasn't the point.
This wasn't about dirt.
It was about obedience. Submission. Presence.
Or absence.
"Where… am I supposed to start?" she whispered.
Mama Kate's eyes softened. "Start with the curtains. Work your way inward. And remember—never enter if the door is locked. Never speak unless spoken to. And whatever you do…"
Bella looked at her.
"…don't go near the drawer beside the bed."
Before she could ask what that meant, Mama Kate was gone.
The door clicked shut.
And Bella was alone.
In his domain.
And somehow, though the house was still…
She didn't feel alone at all.