The grand marble halls of the Astaroth Penthouse trembled with the sound of guards lining up at the entrance. After a bloody, hellish one-and-a-half-week-long war with the Vexanaria syndicate, the feared Astaroth family was returning. Word had spread like fire across the estate—"They're back."

Every single maid and servant had been ordered to the main hall to welcome them. Everyone...except her. She was alone in the kitchen, scrubbing a blood-stained knife from the last chaos. She wasn't called. Not because they forgot her. Oh no. The other maids wanted her punished. The fact that she was the "Young Master's favorite" made their jealousy burn hotter than the stove she cleaned beside. If she missed her cue, surely she'd get yelled at, maybe demoted, maybe worse.

The sound of heavy boots hitting the marble floor echoed long before the penthouse door opened. Kairos Astaroth—son of devils, heir to the empire, black-clad embodiment of sin, death, and cologne that smelled like "regret, sin, and pleasure"—limped into the estate alone, trailing blood and fury behind him. His black shirt was torn, his expensive black coat left somewhere on the battlefield. Red-streaked brown eyes scanned the hall with military precision. Guards stood frozen. Maids bowed. But his voice cut through the silence like a blade:

"Where... the fuck... is my maid?"

A guard stepped forward. "Young Master, you're injured—please, let us call—"

The guard's hand gently gripped his arm.

Bang. He didn't pull the trigger. But the safety came off. A cold warning. The guard immediately let go, hands up. "I—he's new," one of the older maids said quickly. "Didn't know the rules. Please forgive—"

Kairos was already gone, boots dragging across the penthouse floor like a ghost haunting his own home. He pushed the kitchen doors open. There she was. Kneeling on the floor, apron splattered with old blood, her soft hands scrubbing a knife in warm water. Her head snapped up at the sound of the door, but she had no time to react. The gun clattered on the counter as strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind. She gasped, flinching when a warm, bloodstained face buried into the crook of her neck.