"Mom, why don't you make a sound when you walk? Diana twisted her ankle and you suddenly came out without even worrying about scaring her..."
He held me tightly, subtly signaling me to cooperate.
Taking this opportunity, I struggled and jumped down. To my surprise, I really twisted my ankle.
Vincent looked at the cold sweat beading on my forehead and subtly gave me a thumbs-up.
Mrs. Cross, with a thoughtful look, watched her son busying himself for me, as if she wanted to say something but held back.
Finally, under my pleading gaze, she turned and went upstairs.
Vincent then turned and carried me into the bedroom that he had spent a lot of money decorating for me.
The most costly part of the room was the soundproofing.
How laughable. I had once been moved, thinking he did this so I could sleep peacefully without disturbing sounds.
In reality, he only did this to come into the room to indulge his own desires, while ensuring that Mrs. Cross, who lived on the third floor, wouldn’t discover anything. A sourness spread in my heart.
But when he locked the door and once again pressed himself on me, disgust quickly overwhelmed all the bitterness.
His leg pressed against my ankle, the sharp pain causing me to cry out in agony.
Vincent seemed a bit displeased. "Enough, stop pretending. I was just about to praise you for your great acting when you twisted your ankle... Wear the maid outfit I had custom-made for you today..."
Vincent, consumed by his own desires, pretended to be busy in front of his mother for a long time, not noticing that my ankle had already become swollen and bruised.
Looking into his peach blossom eyes, which seemed to express affection even toward a dog, I once again fully realized that he had never truly cared for me.
With his intense possessiveness, he only saw me as a toy to amuse himself with.
Feeling his body, which was on the brink of losing control, I didn’t go along with him for the first time. "I'm tired, let's do it another day."
My repeated interruptions of his advances made Vincent exude an icy aura.
He narrowed his eyes, as if about to question me, when the phone rang urgently.
Hearing the crying on the other end of the phone, Vincent hurriedly opened the door and ran downstairs.
By the time he brought a drenched Evelyn upstairs, I was already lying in bed.
However, he used a spare key to open the door and ordered me with an indifferent tone, "Go make some ginger soup for Evelyn to warm her up."
I sat up and watched them, motionless.
Evelyn immediately pouted, her face full of grievance as she said, "Vincent, although she's a maid, don’t you think asking her to make me soup in the middle of the night might be too much trouble? I’ll be fine if I just rest for a bit."
After speaking, she sneezed.
Vincent pulled her close and urged me with a frown. “Didn't you see Evelyn getting wet in the rain? Don't forget that obeying my orders is your duty.”
He was right; I should obey his orders. But the employment contract had already expired two years ago.
Back then, Evelyn left without saying a word and went abroad, leaving Vincent devastated. He drowned himself in alcohol daily and developed severe bipolar disorder.
One day, while he was drinking at a bar, he saw me being harassed by some men while I was working part-time.
I resisted and those men tried to drag me into a private room by force. Vincent, holding a wine bottle, charged at them, resulting in a bloody brawl.
To express my gratitude for saving me, I insisted on taking care of him at the hospital.
When Mrs. Cross saw that he didn’t reject me and that his bipolar episodes hadn’t recurred for several days because of my presence, she consulted a doctor. Afterward, she decisively brought me an employment contract.
"I will give you 700 thousand dollars for three years to stay by Vincent's side as his personal caretaker."
Coincidentally, my adoptive father had recently passed away from a serious illness, leaving behind a pile of debts to be repaid.
