"One more complaint from you, and I swear—I'll kiss you…"
.
.
.
"Young lady, please come back!" the Montemayor butlers shouted as they raced through the mall, trying to catch up to the daughter of the richest man in the country—Lady Dianne Montemayor.
She had escaped—again—right in the middle of their mall visit.
Dianne Montemayor was infamous. At twenty-one, she had mastered the art of rebellion. Everything about her screamed untouchable: the designer clothes she wore once and never again, the flawless porcelain skin protected by an entourage of stylists, and her striking green eyes—cold, sharp, and judging everything in sight. She was beautiful, but her attitude made even beauty feel dangerous.
She was spoiled, demanding, quick-tempered, and effortlessly intimidating. If Dianne wanted something, the world moved. If she didn't, the world suffered.
And today, she wanted freedom.
"Young lady, we beg you—please stop running!" one butler cried, almost tripping.
But Dianne had already dashed out the mall doors. She spotted her red Mercedes-Benz parked like a trophy and grinned.
"Yahoo! Bye-bye, losers!" She waved mockingly before speeding off, the sound of her engine drowning out the butlers' despair.
This was her routine—escaping, misbehaving, causing headaches. And she enjoyed every second.
Dianne drove until she reached the condominium of her best friend, Miyuki Funtabella, a famous actress who was one of the few people she actually cared about.
"Bestie!" they squealed simultaneously before pulling each other into a tight hug.
They quickly went inside and settled on the lavish couch.
"Let me guess—you ditched your butlers again," Miyuki said with a smirk, taking a sip of wine.
"Obviously. They're annoying. Always glued to me like I'm some fragile princess. Like duh? I can handle myself." Dianne rolled her eyes and flipped her hair, perfectly practiced.
Miyuki laughed. "Your dad's probably on fire right now. Poor men. They don't get paid enough for that stress."
Dianne ignored her and focused on her phone, her long red nails tapping rhythmically.
…..
Back at the Montemayor mansion—
"She escaped again?" Don Agustin asked. His voice was calm, but the butlers felt the storm behind it.
"We're sorry, Don Agustin. She runs… extremely fast," one stammered.
Agustin sighed heavily. "That girl will be the death of me. I think it's time to bring in someone who might actually match her."
He took out his phone and made an important call.
…..
"Seven! Phone call!" one of Seven's friends shouted from across the damp, hidden training facility.
Seven answered immediately. "Yes, boss… Now? Understood. I'm coming."
Seven Bernardo wasn't a typical person—far from it. He was a member of Obsidian, a discreet, elite organization that provided exclusive services for the wealthiest families in the country. Their tasks ranged from bodyguarding to investigating threats… even cleaning up scandals and handling dirty jobs no one dared to speak of.
Seven was one of their top operatives—quick, quiet, efficient, dangerous.
He showered, changed into a crisp formal uniform, and rode his motorcycle toward the address. Upon arrival, his superior greeted him and introduced him to Don Agustin.
"Seven, this is Don Agustin—the father of the client you'll be assigned to. Don Agustin, this is Seven Bernardo, your daughter's new personal butler and protector."
"It is an honor to work for you, sir," Seven greeted politely
"The honor is mine. Please… straighten out my daughter. She's uncontrollable," the Don said with a weary sigh.
Seven nodded. Inside, he wondered what kind of girl could exhaust an entire staff.
…..
Late that night, Dianne finally returned home. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she entered, immediately noticing her father speaking with a young man.
A new butler. Young. Tall. Well-built. Calm. And not the least bit intimidated by her presence.
Interesting.
"Dianne, this is Seven, your new butler," her father introduced.
"Hmph. Another one? You keep hiring them but they're all useless. He won't last either," she scoffed before turning away and heading upstairs.
Her father shook his head. Seven, however, watched her closely—the defiance in her steps, the fire in her eyes.
She's trouble, he thought.
Then a faint smirk touched his lips.
Good. I like trouble.
.
.
.
The next morning…
"Young lady, please wake up," one of the maids called softly as she gently tapped on the door.
Dianne Montemayor was notoriously difficult to wake. If left alone, she could sleep until noon—sometimes even past it. She hated mornings with a passion, and everyone in the mansion knew better than to disturb her lightly.
"Young lady, it's already late," the maid repeated, a little louder this time.
"Hmmm… what? Can't you see I'm sleeping…" Dianne grumbled, pulling the blanket over her head.
The maid scratched her head helplessly—until the bedroom door opened.
Seven stepped inside without hesitation.
"Sir Seven—" the maid gasped, startled.
Seven motioned for her to leave. She hurried out.
Without a word, he marched toward the bed and yanked the blanket off her in one swift, forceful pull.
Dianne shot upright, eyes blazing. "HEY! You rude man! Don't you know I'm sleeping?!"
Seven crossed his arms, unfazed. "It's almost noon, yet here you are, stuck in bed. For a lady, you're unbelievably lazy."
Dianne's jaw dropped. No one—not a single soul in her entire pampered life—had ever dared speak to her like that.
"How dare you say that to me! I don't want to see you again—you're fired!" she yelled.
"Sorry, young lady," Seven replied calmly, "but your father is the one who pays me. He's the only one who can fire me. Now get up, wash your face, and eat—your breakfast is already getting cold."
With that, he walked out.
Dianne grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at the closed door.
"Arrgghhh! Annoying man!"
.....
Later, she marched into her father's office, her face in full angry-pout mode.
"Dad! Fire him! I hate him!" she complained.
"I'm sorry, darling, but I want him to remain as your personal butler," her father said, not looking up from his paperwork.
"But Dad! He's rude! He barged into my room without permission!" she protested.
"My decision stands," he said firmly.
Dianne stomped out of the office with the grace of a furious princess.
Just outside, she came face-to-face with the source of her rage—Seven.
"Hey! Since you're my butler, come with me. We're going shopping," she ordered, chin raised high.
At the mall, Dianne bought everything her eyes landed on—bags, clothes, accessories. She didn't even look at the items; she simply pointed, and salespeople rushed to pack them. It wasn't shopping. It was a command performance.
She did it on purpose—she wanted Seven to struggle carrying everything.
"Aren't you even a little guilty for being this wasteful? Buying things you won't even use?" Seven snapped, arms full of bags.
"Why would I care? It's my money. None of your business," Dianne scoffed.
"That's your father's money, not yours," he shot back without hesitation.
Her smile instantly vanished.
In retaliation, she stomped on his foot. Hard.
Seven dropped the bags. "Ouch! You—!"
With a sharp glare, he swept all of her shopping bags off the floor and tossed them aside.
"What the hell?! Why would you do that?!" Dianne shrieked.
"Punishment for brats like you," he said calmly.
Before she could react, Seven leaned down, grabbed her by the waist, and lifted her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing—like a sack of rice.
"HEY! Put me down!" She hit his back with her fists, furious and humiliated. Seven didn't budge.
He carried her all the way to the car and shoved her inside.
"I'll report you to Dad!" she threatened.
"Go ahead," he said, getting into the driver's seat.
Dianne screeched in outrage as the engine started, her anger boiling over. Of all the people who could have been assigned to her, it had to be him—the arrogant, infuriating man who never listened and always managed to ruin her day. She clenched her fists, fury simmering beneath her skin, and made a silent vow: she would do whatever it took to make him quit.
.....
Days had passed, and every day, the mansion echoed with their arguments.
"Hey! I'm going to a party tonight, so prepare the car!" Dianne barked.
"Your father left strict orders. You're not allowed to go out tonight," Seven replied flatly.
Dianne growled, spun around, and marched back to her room. If Seven thought he could stop her, he was very wrong.
Standing before her window, she smirked.
If she couldn't go out the front door…
She'd just find another way.