~Becklan's POV~
I stayed frozen until I heard his footsteps retreat down the hall. Only then did I unclench my fists, staring at the indentation my fingernails had left in my palms.
I climbed into my bed, but sleep felt impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that explicit scene played out on the massive screen, followed by Leon's terrifying, naked advance. I spent what felt like hours replaying the encounter, cementing the resolve that he would pay for the trauma he had just inflicted.
Eventually, exhausted and emotionally drained, I finally succumbed to a heavy, restless sleep.
The next morning, I woke up stiff, cold, and heavy. I had just begun preparing for the day, performing my tedious morning skincare routine, when a polite knock sounded on my door.
It was Lan. "Becklan," he said softly. "Mr. President requests that every worker be present in the living room. He will be out shortly to have a brief meeting with us."
A mandatory group meeting? My internal warning system flared, telling me Leon wasn't done "teaching lessons."
I quickly dressed in my uniform and rushed outside. I joined the rest of the staff, who were lined up formally in the massive living room. The atmosphere was unusually tense.
Shortly after we were all assembled, Leon entered the room. He was impeccably dressed, radiating his usual cold, corporate authority.
Every worker greeted him in unison: "Good morning, Mr. President."
He gave a curt nod and sat down in the central armchair, instantly turning the luxurious living room into a boardroom.
"I called this meeting," he began, his voice flat and authoritative, "to reiterate the rules of this household, which are non-negotiable."
He proceeded to list every tiresome, obvious directive: "Knock before entering any private space. Maintain absolute cleanliness and hygiene at all times. Use the appropriate service entrances. Keep the noise level to a minimum during all hours."
Then his gaze swept over the staff, pausing just slightly as he reached my position in the line.
"These rules," he emphasized, his voice hardening slightly, "apply to everyone, but especially to every new worker. Learn to abide by these rules, or you will quickly learn the consequences of insubordination."
I knew. Every single word—from "knock before entering" to "consequences of insubordination"—was a direct, public reference to me and my trespass last night. He wasn't just managing the household; he was ensuring everyone knew I was the one who had failed, and I was the one on probation.
I kept my face utterly blank, a statue of professional servitude, while inside, my hundred reasons to destroy him solidified into a concrete plan.
After the tense meeting, Leon had a brief, silent breakfast. Then, we were out the door, headed for the glittering hellscape that was Leon Haute Couture headquarters.
Getting to his office on the top floor, I paused at the doorway, performing my duty. "I will be around, sir," I told him formally. "Please call me anytime you need me."
Leon didn't acknowledge me. He simply walked past, absorbed in the whirlwind of his assistants and the arrival of new samples. I could hear the buzz of activity; his models were arriving, and they had a large photoshoot scheduled.
I stepped outside, leaving him surrounded by the beautiful, talented people I was supposed to be among. Instead of waiting near his office, I retreated to the back corridor—a secluded, quiet spot overlooking the city. I sat alone on a sleek, uncomfortable bench.
I was immediately consumed by my thoughts.
Model. The word was a painful echo. I thought of how desperately I wanted that life, how hard I had trained, and how easily it had all been snatched away—not once, but twice. I was supposed to be walking for him, not waiting to fetch his artisanal coffee.
How did I end up as Leon's maid? It was simple, brutal necessity: I had no place to go, absolutely no money for rent, and I was completely, utterly alone. I had no family that wanted me. Nobody wanted me. Even my boss hated me, and God knows, I hated him right back.
I sat there, staring blankly at the glass and steel of the skyscrapers, thinking about my life. About the loneliness. About the sheer absurdity of being trapped in a gold cage, serving the man who held the key to my future.
The facade finally broke. A single, hot tear escaped, tracing a silent path down my cheek. Then another, and another, until I sat there, a perfect model in a ridiculously short maid uniform, silently crying in the hallway of the world's most prestigious fashion house. I was pathetic.
Just as I was sinking into full self-pity, I heard someone call me from behind.
"Becklan?"
I jumped, wiping furiously at my face with the back of my hand, forcing my features back into the mask of professional servitude.
It was Frank. He stepped into the quiet corridor with his phone in hand, clearly trying to take a private call, and froze when he spotted me. Then he started toward me, a faint crease forming between his brows.
"Good morning, sir," I managed, snapping to attention and stepping away from the bench.
Frank didn't even acknowledge my formal greeting. He came straight to me instead. "Hey… what's going on? Why are you out here alone, and why are you crying?"
I answered quickly, my voice a little too bright. "I wasn't crying, sir! It was… I don't even know, my eyes are just sensitive." I tried to keep the lie going, but Frank only watched me with that steady, unsettling calm of his.
"I'm not blind, Beck," he said quietly. "I've been standing here for a few minutes before I even called your name. What's wrong?"
I forced a smile, the lie tasting bitter. "I'm fine, sir. Just resting my feet."
"No," he said softly, shaking his head. "You're not fine. You don't look fine. No one who looks like you should ever have to cry alone in a hallway."
I kept quiet, refusing to confess my humiliation or my trauma to a beautiful stranger.
He stepped closer, his expression open and kind, the exact opposite of the cold, calculating look Leon usually gave me. "Come," he said, holding out his hand. "Have breakfast with me."
"Oh, no, sir," I stammered. "I can't."
He insisted, and without warning, he gently took my hand.
I flinched instantly, pulling back slightly. "Please, no."
Frank stopped, his movement smooth and respectful. He didn't tighten his grip; he just held my hand softly.
"If you're worried about your boss," Frank said, leaning closer, his voice conspiratorial. "Don't be. Today's going to be a long one, and Leon is swamped. He won't even notice. Trust me."
He took my hand and led me forward. My eyes fell on our entwined fingers before meeting his gaze. His voice was gentle, soft, a language Leon could never speak. Frank's unexpected kindness washed over me like a risky balm, soothing wounds I hadn't realized were still so raw, a stark contrast to the fear that had gripped me just hours before.
We stepped into a small, stylish room hidden at the back of the floor, a VIP lounge, I assumed. Normally meant for discreet, high-profile meetings, it was now just the two of us. Against all reason, my heart gave a tentative, hopeful flutter.
Frank drew out one of the plush chairs for me. "Have a seat," he said softly. "My assistant will bring the order shortly. I requested the really good croissants. You look like you need real food, not just resentment."
I sat, stiffly at first, still not quite believing I was here instead of polishing Leon's desk.
Frank sat across from me, leaning forward with a sincerity that Leon wouldn't be capable of faking even if he trained for a decade. He put his elbows on the table and looked me straight in the eye.
"Before the food gets here," Frank said gently, "can you tell me what actually happened between you and Leon?"
Hearing that name, Leon, gave me a sudden, sharp headache, like a needle being pushed into my head. But Frank was so genuinely nice, and so ridiculously cute, and I was so desperately in need of telling someone the truth, not just the elevator drama, but the why.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. I started explaining, going back two months ago, determined to get the full, toxic narrative off my chest.
"It all started two months ago…"