The compound fell quiet again the moment Thalia stepped back into the house. The door had barely shut when Mario exhaled like he had been holding his breath for far too long.
"She seems cool," he said first, wiping his palms on his jeans. "Just… calm. Innocent actually."
Vicious turned his head slowly, eyes cold and warning. "Mario."
Mario froze. "Yeah, boss?"
Vicious' voice dropped, low and direct. "Don't even think about going close to her. If you try it—your head goes off."
Mario blinked twice and raised both hands quickly. "Chill, man. Chill. I just complimented her. I'm not trying anything. Relax." He grinned nervously. "She looks pure, that's all. Innocent."
Vicious didn't smile. Not even a twitch. His gaze was sharp enough to cut through steel. He turned to all of them, voice steady but heavy. "Why did you come here this morning? What couldn't wait?"
Silence swallowed them. No answer. Just four men suddenly avoiding Vicious' eyes.
He stepped forward slightly, voice deepening. "I said speak."
Fernandez coughed, then smirked with his hands in his pockets. "Actually… we came to see your soon-to-be girlfriend. Know how she's like. Meet our future madam."
The comment hung in the air like smoke. Vicious' jaw tightened, a dark, dangerous, final glare cutting through the room. Martinez whispered to Mario, "He'll kill us today, I swear."
Vicious didn't respond with words. He just stared each of them down one by one, expression unreadable but commanding enough to silence a stadium. He opened his car door. "I'll see you later tonight." The door slammed. Engine roared to life. He drove off without glancing back.
The boys exchanged looks—half fear, half amusement. "Man is gone," Mario muttered. "Longer he stays near her, worse it gets," Fernandez added, smirking. They all laughed nervously, then entered their cars and followed suit, engines fading down the driveway until the mansion fell silent once more.
Inside, Thalia stood by the dining table with her hands on the backrest of a chair, listening faintly to the sound of engines disappearing. She didn't know what they said outside only that she suddenly felt warm in her chest, like something unspoken had just shifted between the walls of that mansion and her heart. She tried to shake the feeling off. He was her boss. Nothing more. Nothing could be more.
Later that afternoon, as she cleaned the house and organized his room, her thoughts landed on the shopping bags Vicious had bought for her the clothes, accessories, everything She stood there for a moment, quiet, thinking. He didn't have to buy those things. He didn't have to care He didn't have to ask her to cook for him in the kitchen last night. He didn't have to watch her the way he did. And yet… he did.
Thalia goes to her room opened her small drawer and removed the money she had intended to pay Vicious for Alex debts that was incomplete—five thousand dollars. She placed it neatly into a white envelope, hesitating before adding one thousand dollars more. Six thousand dollars total.
She breathed deeply. This wasn't about the money. It was gratitude and boundaries. A reminder to herself that kindness must not be mistaken for attachment.
She sat on the edge of the bed with a pen, her handwriting flowing gently across the note:
Sir Vicious,
Thank you for the clothes and accessories. I truly appreciate your kindness.
But I would love to earn the things I use with the work I do. So I'm returning the money with gratitude.
Thank you for everything you have done for me.
— Thalia
She stared at the letter again, uncertain if she was doing the right thing. Would he be offended? Would he laugh? Would he be angry? Or… would he understand? She placed the envelope on his pillow, right at the centre, like a thought she wanted him to see first the moment he returned. The room smelled faintly of his cologne—strong, wood-deep, almost intimidating. She stood there longer than she meant to, fingers brushing the pillowcase before quickly pulling her hand back.
"What are you doing, Thalia?" she whispered to herself. "He's your boss. Just your boss."
She turned off the light and walked out, closing the door gently behind her.
Night fell fast. The compound gates opened again—cars returning, engines rumbling like distant thunder. Vicious stepped out first, jacket over his shoulder, night wind in his hair. He looked the same as always—cold, unreadable, powerful.
Later, when he entered his room, something shifted. His gaze immediately fell on the envelope, white against the dark sheets. He walked toward it slowly, almost suspicious, picking it up and feeling the weight of money inside. He unfolded the letter, eyes moving across every word, slow, quiet, focused. For a long moment, he didn't move, didn't blink, standing there in silence—the type that felt thick and heavy, like it carried something he wasn't used to feeling, something soft, dangerously close to warm.
He sat down at the edge of the bed, letter in one hand, envelope in the other. "She returned it…" he muttered under his breath, disbelief colouring his tone. Most people took from him, feared him, obeyed him. No one ever returned money. No one ever thanked him this gently. A faint smile—small, but real—touched his lips. He leaned back slowly, holding the note like it was something precious. For the first time that day, his chest felt lighter. "She really is different," he breathed.
The next morning, Vicious was already awake, the note and envelope still resting beside him, as if he couldn't bear to put it away. He called her into the room in that low, commanding tone that still carried the faintest edge of curiosity.
Thalia approached quietly, hands folded, nerves tightening like wires under her skin. "Sir?"
Vicious motioned her closer, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her chest flutter. "This," he said, picking up the envelope, "you didn't have to do. You don't owe me anything, Thalia. The money, the things… none of it was yours to return. You did this out of gratitude, not obligation. And I—" He paused, studying her, voice steady but threaded with something she hadn't heard before, softer, almost warm. "I don't argue about rules often, but some things… we will have our moments. We will have our time to learn what this—" he tapped the envelope lightly, "—means, without trying to return it, without trying to earn it. You needn't repay what is given freely, even if it's from me."
Thalia's chest tightened, words failing her. "I… I only wanted to do what I thought was right," she said softly.
He leaned back slightly, expression softening just enough to leave her breathless. "And that's exactly why you didn't need to. We'll have our rules, our boundaries… and we will have our moments. You don't have to measure kindness in coins or favours. Just… live it. That is enough."
Her shoulders relaxed, tension easing. The mansion, the room, even the morning sun seemed to shift around them. For the first time, Thalia understood—Vicious didn't demand repayment, he demanded honesty, integrity, presence. And that, more than anything, mattered to him.
She nodded slowly, barely able to speak. "I… understand, sir."
He placed the envelope gently back on the desk, leaving it visible but no longer threatening, a quiet reminder of the unspoken trust between them. "Good," he said, voice low and controlled, yet carrying the faintest trace of something unguarded. "Now go. Breakfast in thirty minutes please join me, Thalia replied sure only if you accept the money, she walks away.
At the dining table Vicious food is served. From the doorway, she heard his voice, low, controlled, yet carrying a rare warmth she wasn't used to. "Thalia," he called, eyes fixed on her as he stood near the entrance of the kitchen. "Come here. Sit with me for breakfast."
Her heart thudded, a flutter of nerves and curiosity rising in her chest as she approached. He gestured toward a chair at the small table set neatly with cups of steaming coffee. She paused, glancing down at her hands, then nodded, walking over.
Vicious leaned slightly against the edge of the counter, his piercing gaze softened only by the faintest trace of acknowledgment. "I wanted to thank you," he began, voice deliberate, quiet. "For the lunch yesterday. The noodles… everything you made. It was… thoughtful."
Thalia felt her cheeks warm at the praise. "I only did what I could, sir," she said softly, keeping her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. "I wanted to make something simple, but… something you would enjoy."
He nodded once, eyes steady on hers, and the faintest corner of a smile appeared—subtle, but undeniably there. "You've always been… different, Thalia. Most people… most people don't think about others, don't put effort into the small things. But you… you notice. You care. And I… I respect that."
She set down her cup of coffee, the warmth from the mug grounding her. "I only… I only wanted to do what felt right."
Vicious moved to sit opposite her, still calm, still commanding, but softer than she'd ever seen him. He placed the white envelope gently on the table between them. "This," he said, nodding toward it, "you didn't have to do. You don't owe me anything, Thalia. The money… the items… none of it was yours to return. I don't argue often, but some things," he tapped the envelope lightly, "are not meant to be given back. Not to me, not ever. Consider it… acknowledgment. Not a debt."
Thalia blinked, caught between gratitude and surprise. "I… I just thought—"
"You think too much," he interrupted gently, his eyes holding hers with quiet authority. "You've earned my respect without needing to measure it in coins or favours. That's enough. And for the rest," he leaned back slightly, voice soft but firm, "we'll have our moments. Quiet, small… ours alone. You don't have to repay them. You don't have to justify them. Just be present, that is enough."
Her chest rose and fell quickly, the weight of his words pressing softly but firmly against her chest. "I… I understand, sir," she whispered, almost afraid to speak too loudly, afraid to shatter the fragile equilibrium between them.
Vicious nodded, satisfied, but not softening further. Instead, he gestured toward the coffee and the small breakfast he had already ordered. "Sit. Eat. This is yours, for this moment, not a repayment. Just… breakfast. Our breakfast. That's all."
Thalia obeyed, moving carefully to sit across from him, feeling the gravity of the first shared morning moment between them. The mansion no longer felt cold or imposing; it felt quieter, safer, and yet alive with unspoken understanding. Every glance, every measured word, every shared silence carried a weight neither had dared to name aloud, yet both knew was theirs alone.
And Vicious, as he watched her settle, let the faintest trace of a smile linger.