Zara's Pov
"Hi, dear," I greeted the maid in the kitchen, but she didn't answer.
I thought maybe she didn't hear me, so I tried again, softer this time.
"Good evening, dear."
She turned slowly, and the look she gave me…
Pure hate. Cold. Sharp.
"Don't you know when someone doesn't want your greetings?" she snapped.
"Oh—I'm sorry," I said immediately, my voice small.
"Please… can I have something to eat? If you don't mind?" I asked gently.
She scoffed. "Is this your father's house? Does this place look like we serve food to beggars?"
Her words punched straight into my chest.
Tears stung my eyes before I could stop them.
Why… why do people treat me like this?
My parents died.
My uncle treated me like a slave.
My best friend sold me out.
And now even here… I'm still nothing.
I turned and walked out of the kitchen quietly, holding every broken piece of myself inside.
I didn't notice someone standing near the stairs until I bumped into him. I stumbled back.
"I—I'm so sorry, Sir Romano," I said quickly, head bowing.
"Don't be sorry, dear. And next time, don't call me 'sir.' I'm not old," he said with a soft smile—
But the smile disappeared as soon as he saw my tears.
"Zara."
His voice changed.
"What's wrong? Are you okay? Did someone hurt you? Look at me—say something."
"Nothing, Ro…mano."
I whispered his name shakily and avoided his eyes.
Then I ran upstairs.
I reached my room and fell onto the bed, letting the tears fall freely.
Everything—everything—was too much.
The door creaked open.
I quickly pulled the duvet over my face, wiping my tears with shaking hands.
"Zara."
Marco's voice. Low. Deep. Worried.
I felt the bed sink as he came closer.
"What happened, sweetheart?" he murmured, gently trying to pull the duvet down.
"Hey, baby… talk to me. You don't have to hide from me. Romano said you were crying."
"I… I don't know what's wrong with me," I choked out as I sat up, and the moment my eyes met his, the tears burst out again.
He pulled me into his arms instantly.
"Shhh, babe… breathe. Tell me what happened."
His hand stroked my hair, steady and warm.
"I only wanted food," I sobbed into his chest. "I was hungry. That's all. But she—she wasn't nice. I know I'm living with you but that doesn't make me a beggar or… homeless."
Marco cupped my face, wiping my tears with his thumbs.
"Shhh. You're not a beggar. You're not homeless."
His voice dropped lower—colder.
"You're mine. And whoever touches what is mine is already dead."
His eyes…
They weren't just angry.
They were lethal.
Suddenly he stood up.
"I'm going to teach that bitch a lesson."
"Marco—wait—"
But he was already out the door.
Minutes passed before a loud scream ripped through the house.
I bolted downstairs.
The maid was on the floor, covered in blood.
Marco stood over her with a gun pointed directly at her forehead.
"Marco, don't!" I screamed.