Vicious tossed a neatly folded maid's uniform at Thalia with a cold, commanding glare.
"From now on," he said, his voice like steel, "this is what you'll wear. You're not my guest anymore — you're my maid."
Thalia's chest tightened, but she swallowed her pride. With quiet obedience, she picked up the uniform and asked softly, "Where can I change?"
Vicious didn't bother replying. Instead, he gave a slight nod to Matt, his loyal right-hand man. Matt's expression carried a flicker of pity as he gestured. "Please, this way."
He led her through the long hallways until they reached the servants' quarters. The air was heavy and unfamiliar, but Thalia stepped inside without complaint. Moments later, she reemerged, dressed in the uniform that now marked her new role.
Without hesitation, she went straight to the kitchen and began cleaning, her hands trembling as she scrubbed.
Vicious walked in briefly, scanning her with unreadable eyes.
"I'm going out," he said bluntly. "Make sure this entire place is spotless before I return."
Thalia paused, hope sparking inside her. "Sir, may I at least go to the restaurant and club I work at to tell them I quit? They'll need to know."
His face hardened. "No. You're not leaving this house until the deal is done. And just so you know, the grounds are heavily guarded. Don't even think about trying any stunts."
She clenched her fists, biting back her frustration. "Okay, sir… but can I at least go home to collect my clothes and belongings? I know what I need here and what I don't. They're mine."
Vicious eyes flickered with irritation. "No. I'll pick them up myself when I pass by later."
"But I need to—"
Before she could finish, he turned on his heel and walked away, ignoring her words completely.
Thalia stood frozen for a moment, her lips trembling. "How rude," she muttered under her breath. But with no choice, she returned to scrubbing the counters, her thoughts swirling with anger and helplessness.
The uniform weighed heavily on her shoulders, not just fabric, but a reminder — she was trapped. Bound by a deal she never asked for.
While Thalia remained behind, scrubbing the marble floors and polishing every corner of the mansion, Vicious drove across town to a lavish estate owned by one of his closest friends. The house is of wealth and power — crystal chandeliers, velvet curtains, and the faint smell of cigars lingering in the air.
Inside, three men waited for him in the grand lounge, glasses of whiskey in hand. They were not ordinary companions; these were men who moved in the shadows of society, feared as much as they were respected.
As Vicious entered, the room shifted. He didn't waste time with pleasantries. He poured himself a drink, leaned back on the leather sofa, and began.
"We need to be smarter," he said, his voice calm but sharp. "The border is getting tighter. If we don't plan this right, the shipment will never make it through."
One of his friends, a man with a scar running down his cheek, smirked. "We have options. Bribe the officials, reroute the cargo… or make someone powerful happy enough to look the other way."
Their discussion grew darker, weaving around strategies of smuggling, loyalty, and danger. For them, this wasn't crime — it was business.