Enzo's Point of View
The tension in the air was thick. I sat on the edge of my chair, glaring at the polished wooden desk in front of me, trying to wrap my head around what my father had just said. A maid—my own personal maid. The concept irritated me. It wasn't about having someone to clean or assist me. It was the idea of someone constantly being in my space, invading my privacy. My life was organized, calculated, controlled, and now it was going to be disrupted by some girl my father had handpicked.
"I was really curious to know this girl whom my father selected as my personal maid. I don't want her to be my maid who invades my privacy, but if she tried anything forbidden, then I'll put a bullet in her head." The thought crossed my mind without remorse. I had worked hard to build a life where no one interfered with me. I had rules, boundaries. If she crossed those lines, she'd regret it.
