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Serene’s POV
The small tray in my hands felt heavier than usual as I climbed the grand staircase of Nicholas Volkov’s mansion, the coffee cup rattling faintly against its saucer.
My slippers sank into the plush crimson runner, each step like a countdown to something I couldn’t name.
The air was thick and it did little to calm the drumbeat of my heart. I was … scared. I was only bringing him his morning coffee—a simple task, one I’d done a few times since arriving as his maid.
Yet every time I approached his bedroom, it felt like stepping into a lion’s cage.
I paused outside the double doors. My knuckles hovered, trembling, before I finally mustered the courage to knock—softly, as if hoping he wouldn’t hear.
No answer.
I swallowed hard, my pulse thrumming in my ears, and pus
