Living with the Devil
Zain stopped the car in front of the tall glass building. His hand lingered on the steering wheel for a moment, his sharp profile catching the faint reflection of city lights. Slowly, he turned his head.
Anya was leaning against the seat, her long lashes damp, faint tear marks glistening down her pale cheeks. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, as if she were carrying the weight of the world.
For the first time that day, Zain's cold emerald eyes softened. His hand lifted almost instinctively. With a rare gentleness, he brushed away the wetness with his thumb.
"Anya… wake up. We've arrived," he murmured, his voice surprisingly low and tender.
Anya stirred, her body heavy with exhaustion. When her eyelids finally fluttered open, her lips parted in a broken whisper.
"We… have arrived…"
Zain exhaled sharply, as if scolding himself for slipping out of character. His face returned to its usual hardness.
"Take your luggage out. I'll go park the car."
She nodded faintly, her voice barely more than a breath.
"Okay."
Dragging her suitcase out of the car, she stood quietly on the driveway. Against the towering building, her slender frame looked unbearably small—like a fragile figure about to be swallowed by the glittering city.
When Zain returned, two heavy suitcases dangling effortlessly in his hands, his brows knitted.
"What's wrong with you? Can't you even walk properly?"
Anya bit her lip, her knuckles whitening around the handle of her suitcase, but she said nothing. She simply lowered her gaze and followed him inside.
---
The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding. Silence filled the narrow, mirrored cabin as the two stepped in.
Anya lifted her gaze to the reflection in the glass panel. For a fleeting second, she saw herself standing beside him—her fragile form, pale and tired, against his tall, commanding presence. He looked untouchable, dangerous, and yet… now her fate was tied to his.
"Now… I'll have to live under the same roof as my boss," her heart whispered. "But no matter what happens, I will never lose my self-respect."
The elevator stopped on the ninth floor. Zain keyed in a code, and with a soft mechanical click, the door to Apartment 902 unlocked.
The moment Anya stepped inside, her breath caught.
"This… this house…"
Her eyes widened. White leather sofas gleamed under warm golden lights. Spotless marble flooring stretched out, reflecting the tall glass windows that opened into Shenzhen's glittering skyline. The place looked like it had stepped out of a magazine.
Her lips parted in awe.
"Boss… is this really your house? It's so luxurious… like a dream home."
A devilish curve tugged at Zain's lips.
"No… it's the neighbor's."
Anya's sharp glare snapped him back into a low chuckle.
"Of course, it's mine. But remember—your room is separate. Don't even think about stepping into mine. Whether at home or in the office, I'll always remain your boss."
Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to reply steadily.
"I have no interest in entering your room… or calling you my husband."
A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes as he leaned a little closer.
"Good. By the way, I don't like maids. So you'll handle the chores. Cooking, cleaning… everything. And if you're late to the office—" his voice dropped, his breath brushing against her ear, "—consider your job gone."
Anya's hands curled into fists at her sides.
"How am I supposed to handle such a big house alone?"
Zain shrugged carelessly, tossing his suitcase on the sofa.
"It's not that big. You should've seen my parents' mansion." He walked toward his room, his tone casual yet sharp. "Dinner better be ready by the time I'm out of the shower, Mrs. Yan."
Her throat tightened. Her vision blurred with unshed tears.
"God… what kind of fate is this? Papa… why did you push me into this? A wife in name… a maid in reality."
Still, she swallowed the bitterness, dragged her suitcase into the guest room, and forced herself toward the kitchen.
---
Chapter 2 – The First Meal
The bathroom door clicked open. Steam drifted out, and Zain emerged with damp hair falling over his forehead. His black T-shirt clung to his lean, well-built frame, droplets of water sliding down his neck.
For a moment, Anya froze—her heart skipping in spite of herself.
But his sharp tone cut through the haze.
"You haven't cooked yet? I'm starving."
Her lips trembled. "I… I don't even know where things are kept in this kitchen."
Zain sighed impatiently, stepping past her. He pulled open the cabinets with swift, practiced movements, setting noodles, vegetables, and spices on the counter.
"Fine. I'll show you. But this is the first and last time."
Anya watched silently. Her fingers fumbled as she tied an apron around her waist. The strings shook with the tremor in her hands.
"Excuse me, madam," Zain mocked, folding his arms, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Do you even know how to cook noodles?"
Her back stiffened, but she kept her voice steady.
"I do… but I don't know how to turn on this stove."
Zain slapped his forehead, half-amused, half-annoyed.
"Unbelievable. It's an electric stove. Press the button and fire comes on. Miss Stupid, how long will you be like this?"
Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing. She filled the pot, added the vegetables and noodles. Slowly, steam began to curl into the air.
Zain leaned lazily against the counter, his eyes never leaving her.
"So… do you really know how to cook, or do you just throw things in?"
Without glancing back at him, Anya replied softly,
"I used to cook when my parents weren't home. Everyone praised me. At home, they used to call me 'Little Chef.'"
A sly smile curved his lips.
"Oh… so you are a good cook. Seems I was right to make you responsible for the meals."
She ignored him, silently serving the steaming noodles into two glass bowls. She carried them to the dining table, setting them down carefully.
Zain took a bite. His brows arched.
"Hm… not bad. Actually… delicious."
Anya straightened her back, her voice calm but proud.
"I told you, they used to call me Little Chef."
Zain's smirk deepened.
"Then, Little Chef… from now on, always cook according to my orders."
She bent slightly, mocking respect.
"Yes, Boss. Your personal chef awaits your commands."
But inside, her heart screamed—
If only I could add poison… then this devil would be gone, and I'd finally be free.
Her lips curved into a faint, almost dangerous smile at the thought.
Zain caught it. His palms clapped suddenly, making her jump.
Anya startled. "What happened? Were the noodles that good?"
Zain laughed, a cruel spark in his eyes.
"Not the noodles… your daydreams. Anyway, I'm full. I'm going to my room. And listen—don't even think of sleeping until the dishes are washed."
Anya's teeth ground together as she muttered under her breath,
"After such a long trip, now dishes too? If I weren't so tired, I'd throw you in the sink along with them."
Still, she washed the dishes quickly, arranged her clothes neatly in the wardrobe, and finally stepped into the grand bathroom attached to her room.
Her eyes widened.
"This bathroom is bigger than my entire bedroom… a bathtub, a shower… unbelievable."
A faint smile tugged at her lips. She showered, the warm water washing away at least a little of her exhaustion. Returning to her room, she slid into the soft bed, the mattress embracing her weary body.
Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she whispered to herself in the quiet darkness,
"At least… the bed is kind to me."
Within moments, sleep pulled her under—uneasy, but merciful.