Amara had nothing left.
When the robbery went wrong, she ran with only her breath and guilt. For days she hid in bus stations, slept in alleys, and scavenged for food. But the weight of her family's debt pulled her back — even if they had once used her as payment.
She returned to the village with only one offer:
"Take me," she told the moneylender. "Use me instead. Just leave my family alone."
But that second chance never came.
Her father, eyes heavy with shame and greed, handed her over once again. Not to the lender. This time to strangers. Traffickers with smooth smiles and dead eyes.
"She's strong. Young. Quiet," her father said. "Take her."
And they did.
No questions asked.
The truck ride was long, dark, and airless. Amara didn't cry. She didn't scream. She simply went still — like her soul had gone ahead without her.
When they finally opened the door, she stepped out into a different world.
A mansion so wide and white it looked like something from a dream. Polished marble. Tall glass doors. Guards at the gate. Uniformed staff in lines.
"This is your new post," one of the women said. "You're lucky. He's rich. You'll be fed. Obey, and you won't be hurt."
No name. No warning.
Just silence — and a collar of fear she couldn't remove.
Inside the house, the air was too clean. Too quiet.
"Don't look at him," the older maids whispered. "He doesn't tolerate disobedience. Or noise."
They were talking about Damian Eze.
The son of a tycoon. Cold. Powerful. Private.
But what no one in the house knew was the full truth:
Damian hadn't spoken to his father in nearly a decade.
The old man had driven Damian's mother into depression, isolating her with cruelty and fear until it consumed her. Damian blamed himself for not saving her — and his father for everything else.
And when the man remarried a year after her death, Damian walked away. Built his own empire. Chose distance as survival.
Only one person ever broke through his guarded heart:
Zina — his stepsister.
She wasn't perfect, but she was all he had left that resembled family. She made him laugh. Argued with him like an equal. Reminded him he still had a heart.
Until the night she was shot during a home invasion.
Since then, she hadn't woken up.
And Damian hadn't slept.
The new maid was barely noticed at first.
She kept her head down. She cleaned when told. Ate silently.
But Damian saw her once — standing in the hallway, frozen, staring at Zina's portrait.
And for a moment… something flickered in his mind.
A whisper of familiarity. Like he'd seen her before.
"Who hired you?" he asked.
Amara bowed her head. "The agency, sir."
He nodded slowly. Watched her a moment longer.
And walked away.
But the memory lingered like smoke.
End of Episode 3