Lira's jaw practically unhinged.
Her small hands balled into tight fists on the sheets, her entire body trembling from the sheer, unbelievable gall of the request.
"You—are insane," she hissed venomously. "What kind of sick bastard—"
He didn't respond to the insult.
He just yawned.
As if her boiling fury was nothing more than mildly irritating background noise.
She made a sharp, sudden move to rise—her long legs kicking out from under her, trying to quickly crawl across the mattress toward the opposite edge, toward the safety of the door. But his deep voice followed her like a cruel, invisible leash.
"Don't you want the money?"
She froze mid-crawl.
His tone wasn't loud. It wasn't aggressive. It was just… pointed.
"Didn't you tell your sister you'd pay her academy fee by working as my maid?"
Her breath caught painfully in her throat.
He knew.
Of course the bastard knew.
