His Maid, His Obsession

Silence

Jennifer froze.

The weight in her arms shifted slightly, and then—a low chuckle.

Her breath hitched as Ken's bloodstained lips curled into a smirk.

"Damn, Jennifer," he rasped, voice laced with amusement. "You actually cried for me?"

Her hands trembled against his chest as his eyes—those sharp, maddening eyes—blinked open, filled with mischief despite the pain.

"It was a prank, sweetheart," he murmured, tilting his head. "Did you miss me?"

Jennifer’s body went rigid. Her mind screamed at her to process what had just happened.

Then—SLAP.

Ken's head snapped to the side as Jennifer's palm collided with his cheek. Hard.

Her chest heaved, fury burning through every inch of her. “You absolute bastard!” she shouted, pushing him off her lap. “I thought— I thought you—”

Her voice broke, her emotions tangled between rage and overwhelming relief.

Ken just groaned, rubbing his cheek, his smirk never fading. "Damn… that hurt more than the bullets."

Jennifer stood up abruptly, her hands shaking—with rage, with relief, with everything in between.

Ken, still lying on the floor, grinned up at her, unfazed. "Admit it, sweetheart, you were devastated."

Jennifer clenched her fists. “I was about to bury you, you i***t!”

Ken chuckled, wincing slightly as he pushed himself up. "Damn. That would’ve been awkward."

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her heart, trying to suppress the urge to either kill him for real or collapse into his arms.

But Ken just leaned back against the wall, tilting his head at her. “So, did I finally make you admit you care?”

Jennifer glared at him, her eyes still burning. "Go to hell, Ken."

His smirk widened. "Tried, sweetheart. Didn't work."

Ken cupped her face, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the chaos between them. His thumb brushed over her cheek, eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

"You love me, don’t you?" he asked, his voice raw, almost desperate.

Jennifer's lips parted, but no words came out. She hated him. She despised him. And yet— her silence spoke louder than any confession ever could.

Ken’s smirk softened, his grip tightening just slightly. “Thought so.”

Ken took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he tilted his face slightly towards her. His voice was low, almost taunting—but underneath, there was something fragile.

"If you hate me, slap me. If you love me... kiss me."

Jennifer stared at him, her hands trembling at her sides. The air between them felt suffocating. Every memory, every fight, every stolen glance—it all crashed over her at once.

Her fingers twitched. A slap. A kiss. A choice.

And as the silence stretched, Ken only smirked. Waiting. Daring.

Jennifer’s breath hitched as she stared at him—his closed eyes, the faint smirk playing on his lips, the silent challenge hanging in the air.

Her fingers curled into a fist. A slap would be so easy. A sharp, stinging end to the war between them.

But her heart pounded against her ribs, her body betraying her mind. Because a slap wasn’t what she wanted.

Her hand lifted. Ken didn’t flinch. He was ready to take whatever she gave him.

And then—she grabbed his collar and crushed her lips against his.

Ken’s eyes snapped open, and for the first time, he was the one caught off guard.

As their lips moved in a clash of fire and desperation, Jennifer pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth, her breath warm, her voice trembling—"I hate you… so much."

Ken smirked against her lips, his grip tightening around her waist. "Liar," he murmured before pulling her back in, swallowing every unspoken truth between them.

Just as the heat between them threatened to consume everything, the distant roar of an engine cut through the silence.

Jennifer stiffened. Ken’s grip on her waist faltered for a second before his jaw clenched. His father’s car.

The weight of reality crashed down between them. Whatever this was—whatever just happened—was over.

Ken exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Perfect timing," he muttered, his usual cocky smirk returning, but his eyes—his eyes told another story.

Jennifer took a step back, straightening her clothes, her breath still uneven. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. They just listened as the car doors slammed shut, and footsteps echoed toward the mansion.

Jennifer’s breath hitched as Ken leaned in, his lips barely grazing the shell of her ear. His voice was low, deep, and almost a whisper—“Come to my room tonight.”

Before she could react, a slow, deliberate kiss brushed against her ear, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

By the time she turned to look at him, Ken was already walking away, hands in his pockets, his usual arrogance in every step.

Jennifer stood frozen, her heart pounding. She should ignore him. She should stay away.

But as the night crept in, she wasn’t sure if she would.

That night, Ken’s father was yelling at him in his office. “What the hell were you thinking, Ken? Three men—three innocent men! You shot them without a second thought!”

Ken sat there, unfazed, his jaw clenched, eyes cold. “They were in my way.”

Jennifer stood outside the door, listening. Her fingers curled into fists as anger boiled inside her. Innocent people? He killed innocent people?

She had seen blood on his hands before, but this… this was different.

As Ken walked out of the office, their eyes met. For the first time, she wasn’t scared of him. She was disappointed.

And Ken? He noticed.

Ken grabbed her wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. "Don't look at me like that," he muttered, his voice low, almost dangerous.

Jennifer yanked her hand away, shoving him back with all her strength. "How else am I supposed to look at a murderer?" she snapped, her eyes burning with anger.

Ken's jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. "You don’t understand anything."

Jennifer stepped closer, her voice sharp. "Then make me understand, Ken. Tell me why you did it. Or was it just for fun?"

For the first time, Ken had no answer. And that silence told her everything.

Ken let out a sharp breath, his eyes darkening. "You think you know me?" he asked, stepping closer.

Jennifer didn’t back down. "I know enough to hate you."

Something in his gaze flickered—anger, pain, something she couldn’t quite name. His fingers twitched as if fighting the urge to grab her again. "Then hate me," he whispered, voice almost pleading.

Jennifer stared at him, heart pounding. Why did he look… hurt?

But she wouldn’t fall for it. Not this time.

"I already do," she said coldly, turning her back on him.

Jennifer froze mid-step. Ken's voice had been low, almost broken, but laced with something dangerous—desperation.

She turned slowly, meeting his gaze. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by something raw, something real.

"You said you loved me once," Ken murmured, stepping closer. "Were you lying?"

Jennifer's throat tightened. "That was before I knew what you really are."

Ken let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "And what am I, Jennifer?"

She held his gaze, heart pounding. "A monster."

For the first time, Ken didn't argue. He just looked at her, eyes heavy with something she couldn't name. Regret? Pain? Or something worse?

From that night on, Ken didn’t pick up his guns. He didn’t argue, didn’t threaten.

He just… stopped.

The once ruthless man, who ruled with bullets and blood, now moved through the mansion like a ghost. His presence was quieter, his gaze unreadable. He didn’t fight back when his father scolded him, didn’t react when others mocked his silence.

Jennifer noticed.

The absence of his rage was louder than his violence ever was.