Jayjay — or simply Jay — stood outside the tall black gates of Watson House, clutching the strap of her small bag. The huge mansion rose above her like a palace made of glass, stone, and pure silence. Everything about it felt cold… perfect… distant. Just like the owner.
Mark Keifer Watson.
Young billionaire. Known for a face that never smiled, a voice that never softened, and a heart that people said was made of ice.
But Jay wasn't here because she wanted to be.
She was here because she had to be.
Her father's medical bills had doubled in the last month. Cancer was expensive. Time was running, and Jay needed a job—any job that paid enough. So when she got the chance to work at Watson House as a maid, she said yes without thinking twice.
She exhaled and pressed the bell.
The gates slid open silently, like they were expecting her.
Inside, everything felt too quiet. The fountain didn't splash—its water flowed smoothly like it didn't dare make noise. The garden was trimmed too neatly. The air felt colder here, like even the wind had rules.
A tall man in black—security—walked her inside.
The hall looked like something from a museum. Marble floors. Huge chandeliers. Expensive paintings. And not a speck of dust anywhere.
Jay swallowed.
"How do people even live here?" she whispered to herself.
"Follow me," the head housekeeper, Mrs. Gray, said sharply.
Jay tried to smile at her, but the woman only nodded stiffly.
After a quick tour and a lecture about rules (there were a LOT of rules), Mrs. Gray led Jay toward the living room.
"He is inside," she said.
Jay blinked. "H-He… as in—"
"Yes. Mr. Watson."
Jay's heart tried to jump out of her chest.
She didn't feel ready. She didn't feel prepared. She didn't even feel like breathing.
But Mrs. Gray opened the door anyway.
And there he was.
Keifer Watson stood by the huge glass window, sleeves rolled up, cold light outlining the sharp edges of his jaw. He didn't turn when they entered. He simply said:
"Is she the new maid?"
Jay almost forgot how to speak. "Y-Yes, sir. I mean—yes. I'm Jay. Jayjay."
He finally turned.
His eyes were cold. Not angry. Not annoyed. Just… unreadable.
Like he had already judged her without knowing her.
"You're late," he said, even though she was exactly on time.
"S-Sorry, sir," Jay mumbled.
"I don't like apologies," Keifer replied. "I like work done properly."
His voice was low, calm, and somehow even colder than the air around them.
Jay nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. I'll do my best."
He looked at her for a moment—long enough to make her want to hide behind her own shadow.
Then he walked past her.
"Mrs. Gray will tell you your duties," he said, not giving her a second look. "Don't disturb me unless absolutely necessary."
And he left the room.
Jay finally breathed.
Mrs. Gray gave her a sympathetic glance. "He's always like that. You'll get used to it."
Jay wasn't sure she ever would.
But as she followed the housekeeper to her small room, one thought stayed in her mind:
This is for Dad. I can do this.
Even if Watson House felt like ice… Jay would survive it.
After all, sometimes the softest heart becomes the strongest when it has no choice.