MAFIA LORD'S PRIZE

CHAPTER 4

Amelia stood still, alone in the cool, earthy smell of the storage room. The way **Marvis had suddenly left** seemed to hang in the air, leaving a strange, empty feeling in her chest. One moment, his beautiful blue eyes were looking at her, showing real interest and kindness. Next, his face changed a little, his jaw tightened, and he was just gone, like he'd been pulled away by something only he could feel.

Her hand went to her cheek without her even thinking, still warm from the surprise of seeing him. It had been so long since anyone looked at her without pity, or not like she was just something to be used. Marvis, even with his good looks, was dressed in simple clothes, not much different from the other important people who worked in the house. He'd given her a quick moment of human connection, a small peek at a world outside her fancy, but now dirty, cage. But the way he suddenly disappeared, without a word, without even looking back, was a harsh reminder of how unstable her life here was.

This was Damien's house, a place where even a small moment of kindness felt dangerous. Who was Marvis, and why did he disappear like a ghost? These questions swirled in her head, a confusing mix of wanting to know more and feeling uneasy. She was just a maid here, but maybe, in that short meeting, she had become noticeable to someone she shouldn't have. And in Damien's world, being noticed could be the most dangerous thing of all.

--

Marvis didn't mean to leave Amelia so fast, but the moment he heard a **sharp, commanding voice call his name** from the kitchen doorway, his gut told him to get out of there. It was **daytime**, and he knew he shouldn't be hanging around the busy kitchen, especially talking so openly with the staff. He wasn't supposed to stick around, draw attention, or make friends in the working parts of the house.

He didn't actually see who called him, but the way the voice sounded left no doubt—it was someone important, someone everyone in this mansion had to obey without question. Marvis's face went blank; his easy smile was replaced by a serious look he put on when he needed to be discreet. He quickly thought about the situation: staying any longer would just draw more attention, maybe leading to uncomfortable questions or problems he wanted to avoid. Leaving quickly was his way of staying safe and following the strict, unwritten rules of the house. He chose to be discreet and follow the mansion's strict rules over the unexpected pull he felt towards Amelia, knowing that breaking those rules could have serious, even if unseen, consequences.

—

Amelia tried to shake off the lingering unease Marvis's sudden exit had left behind. Back in the rhythm of her chores – sweeping the vast, marble floors of the main house, her reflection a fleeting ghost in their polished surface – she found a small measure of distraction. Days bled into weeks, each one a monotonous cycle of cleaning, polishing, and serving. The faces of the main occupants of the mansion remained largely a mystery, fleeting glimpses in hallways, hushed orders relayed through other staff. Damien himself was a rare and formidable presence, an echoing footstep or a cold command carried on the air enough to send a ripple of apprehension through the staff.

She hadn't seen Marvis again. The memory of his kind eyes and the brief, unexpected help in the storage room felt like a dream, a momentary break in the otherwise stark reality of her existence. She told herself it was better this way. Getting involved with anyone in this house, especially someone who seemed to operate outside the normal staff hierarchy, was likely asking for trouble.

One sweltering afternoon, the Head Maid, a woman whose sharp gaze missed nothing, instructed Amelia to deliver a tray of cool drinks to the west terrace. It was a part of the mansion Amelia rarely saw, usually reserved for guests or the family themselves. Her heart gave a nervous flutter as she carefully balanced the silver tray, the clinking of the glasses echoing in the otherwise silent hallway.

As she stepped out onto the sun-drenched terrace, the vibrant colors of the meticulously manicured gardens hit her first. Then she saw him.

Leaning against the stone railing, looking out over the sprawling estate, was Marvis. He was dressed similarly to the day they'd met, in simple but well-kept trousers and a plain linen shirt. His brown hair caught the sunlight, highlighting the golden undertones. He looked less imposing in the bright daylight, more like the approachable, handsome stranger who had offered her help.

Amelia’s steps faltered. She almost turned back, her instinct screaming at her to avoid any further interaction. But it was too late. Marvis turned, his blue eyes widening slightly in what looked like genuine surprise.

"Oh," he said, a small, almost hesitant smile gracing his lips. "It's you."

Her throat felt dry. She managed a small nod, her grip tightening on the tray.

"You work here?" he asked, his tone casual, almost conversational.

Amelia hesitated for a fraction of a second. This felt… odd. Someone like him, with his bearing, asking if *she* worked here? But then she remembered his plain clothes. Maybe he wasn't one of the masters. Maybe he was… like her, in a way.

"Yes," she replied softly, keeping her gaze lowered slightly, a habit ingrained from her interactions with those in power. "I'm a maid."

"A maid," he repeated, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary, a hint of something unreadable in his blue eyes. "Well, it seems we have something in common then." He gave a slightly self-deprecating smile. "I work here too. Helping with… various things." He gestured vaguely with his hand, a gesture that encompassed everything and nothing at all. "My name's Marvis," he added, extending a hand towards her, a friendly, open gesture that eased some of her nervousness. "And you are?"

Amelia's heart fluttered. "Amelia," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper as she tentatively took his offered hand. The warmth of his skin was a stark contrast to the cold marble she spent her days cleaning.

"Nice to properly meet you, Amelia," he said, his smile widening. Then, his gaze shifted slightly towards the edge of the terrace. "Just set those down on that table over there," he instructed, nodding towards a low, elegant marble table. "The young master will be here shortly."

Amelia's eyebrows furrowed slightly. *The young master?* She hadn't heard of a "young master" before. Her mind briefly tried to piece it together, but her exhaustion and the sheer complexity of the household's inhabitants usually left her too overwhelmed to dwell on such details.

Amelia nodded, her movements a little clumsy now, her mind still reeling from the unexpected warmth of his touch. As she reached the table and carefully lowered the tray, her foot caught on the edge of the ornate rug. Her balance wavered, the glasses on the tray rattling precariously. She gasped, bracing herself for the inevitable crash.

But the crash never came. In a flash, Marvis was there, his strong arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her firmly against him. Her free hand instinctively clutched his shirt, crumpling the soft fabric. The tray, miraculously steady, settled onto the table. Amelia looked up, her gaze meeting his, her face just inches from his own. His blue eyes, wide with concern a moment ago, now softened, staring into hers with an intensity that stole her breath. The world seemed to shrink to just the two of them, the gentle rise and fall of his chest against hers, the shared heat of their bodies, the unspoken connection humming between them.

Then, a sharp, clear voice sliced through the silence of their moment, cutting through the romantic haze like a cold blade.

"What's going on here?"

Amelia froze, her body stiffening against Marvis’s. Her eyes darted away from his, wide with sudden, chilling fear. They had been caught.

—