His Maid, His Obsession

Silent tears under the moon

Ken ran a hand through his hair, his jaw still tense. His voice came out rough. "You good?"

Jennifer, still fixing her wet sleeves, barely looked at him.

She just nodded.

No trembling hands. No shaken breaths. Just a simple f*****g nod.

Ken’s eyes narrowed. "That’s it?"

Jennifer finally met his gaze—calm, unreadable. "What else do you expect?"

Ken scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re a piece of work, maid."

Jennifer didn’t react. She just walked away.

The palace was asleep, but Ken wasn’t.

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, he felt restless. His mind kept replaying the events of the night—the way Jennifer had sat there, drenched in beer, yet completely unfazed. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t beg. Didn’t need him.

It pissed him off.

With a sigh, he got up, throwing on a jacket before stepping onto the terrace. The cold night air hit him, but it wasn’t what made him stop in his tracks.

It was her.

Jennifer.

She was sitting alone on the stone bench in the garden, the moonlight casting a soft glow on her face.

And she was crying.

Jennifer’s fingers trembled as they traced the delicate silver pendant in her hands. A simple chain, nothing extravagant—yet it held the weight of a lifetime.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she made no sound. She never did.

She took a shaky breath, tilting her head toward the sky. The stars were bright tonight, almost mocking in their beauty.

And then, in the softest whisper— like a prayer, like a plea—she said his name.

"Kai..."

A sad, longing smile stretched across her lips, her eyes glistening as she gazed upward, as if searching for him somewhere beyond the stars.

The morning sun spilled through the palace windows, casting a golden glow over the marble floors.

Ken, still groggy from the sleepless night, ran a hand through his messy hair as he stepped into the hall. His mind was still stuck on the image of Jennifer from last night—crying, whispering a name that didn’t belong to him.

He hated that he was thinking about it.

And then, he saw her.

Jennifer was already at work, her hands moving effortlessly as she wiped the long dining table. Calm. Silent. As if last night never happened.

Her eyes weren’t red. Her face wasn’t swollen. She looked as composed as ever.

Ken narrowed his eyes. Not a single trace of weakness.

He stepped closer, leaning against a nearby chair. "You don’t sleep, do you?"

Jennifer didn’t pause. Didn’t even glance at him. "Not much."

Jennifer barely had time to react before Ken shoved her back against the table, caging her in.

His grip was strong—not rough, but firm enough to remind her who he was. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, locked onto hers.

"You pretend too damn well," he muttered.

Jennifer didn’t flinch. "Let me go, Ken."

He didn’t move. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying her like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. "You cried last night."

For a second—just a second—her fingers twitched. A small, nearly invisible reaction. But Ken caught it.

His lips curled into something close to a smirk. "You miss him that much?"

Jennifer’s jaw tightened. "Move."

Ken leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. "Or what?"

Jennifer held his gaze, unshaken. And then, in a tone just as quiet, just as dangerous, she answered—

"Or I’ll remind you why men like you should be afraid of women like me."

Ken’s smirk didn’t waver. "What if I kiss you?" he asked, voice low and taunting.

Jennifer didn’t hesitate. "Then I’d make you regret it."

Ken chuckled, but there was no real amusement in it. "Bold words for someone pinned under me."

Jennifer tilted her head slightly, her expression calm—too calm. "You think this is power?"

Ken’s grip on her wrists loosened slightly. Something about the way she said it—like she was waiting for him to make a mistake—unsettled him.

She leaned in just enough for her lips to almost brush his ear. "Real power is making someone think they’re in control when they never were."

Ken froze for half a second.

And then—pain.

Jennifer had stomped on his foot, hard. In the split second his grip faltered, she twisted free, stepping back as if nothing had happened.

She smoothed her dress, looked up at him, and said in a perfectly neutral voice—

"Breakfast is ready."

Then she walked away, leaving Ken standing there—speechless for the first time in his life.

Ken didn’t think. Didn’t plan.

The second she turned away, he grabbed her wrist, yanked her back, and crashed his lips against hers.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was raw, frustrated, a warning.

Jennifer gasped against his mouth, her hands pushing against his chest—but Ken didn’t let go. His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer, forcing her to feel every bit of control he refused to lose.

But then—she bit him.

Hard.

Ken jerked back, his tongue running over his lip, tasting the sharp tang of blood.

Jennifer wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her breathing steady, her eyes burning with defiance.

"I told you," she said, her voice like steel. "You'd regret it."

Ken stared at her, chest rising and falling.

And then, to her shock—he laughed.

Low, dark, and utterly intrigued. "f**k," he muttered, his tongue pressing against his wounded lip. "You're really something, huh?"

4o

Silent, restrained sobs, her shoulders barely shaking. In her hands, she clutched a silver necklace—one she never took off.

Ken frowned, his chest tightening.

He had never seen her like this. Not when Jack humiliated her. Not when she was tied up. Not even when he put a gun to her head.

But here she was—breaking for someone else.

Ken knew that necklace. He had seen her touch it before, always with this distant, haunted look in her eyes.

Her husband.

The dead man she still loved.

Ken exhaled slowly, leaning against the railing. He could walk away. Pretend he never saw this. She wasn’t his problem.

But for some reason, he just stood there. Watching. Feeling something he didn’t f*****g understand.

Ken’s fingers brushed against the delicate chain around Jennifer’s neck. The necklace. The one she never took off. The one that belonged to him.

Her dead husband.

Without thinking twice, he grabbed it and yanked.

The thin chain snapped.

Jennifer froze. And then—for the first time—she screamed.

"You son of a b***h!" Her voice was raw, filled with something Ken had never heard from her before—rage. Grief. Pain.

She shoved him—hard. Her nails dug into his arms as she fought to snatch it back, but Ken held it just out of reach, his expression unreadable.

"Why do you still wear it?" His voice was low, rough. "He's gone, Jennifer."

Her slap came fast and hard.

Ken barely flinched. He only stood there, watching as Jennifer’s chest heaved, her eyes wild, tears brimming but refusing to fall.

She snatched the broken necklace from his hand, clutching it so tightly her knuckles turned white. "You don't get to touch this. You don’t get to touch me."

Ken exhaled, rolling his jaw. "I just did."

Jennifer's hands shook. But her voice didn’t when she spat—"And I will never forgive you for it."

Then she turned and walked away, leaving Ken standing there—for once, feeling like he had lost.

Jennifer was focused on her work, her hands steady despite the exhaustion still clinging to her body. She refused to rest—refused to show weakness.

Behind her, Jack leaned against the counter, a smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes landed on something.

A faint red stain on the back of her dress.

Jack's grin widened. He nudged Ken with his elbow, whispering just loud enough for him to hear—"Looks like your maid’s got a little… situation."

Ken’s brows furrowed in confusion until he followed Jack’s gaze. His jaw tightened instantly.

Jack snickered, tilting his head. "Think she even knows?"

Jack was still laughing, rubbing his arm where Ken had hit him. "Damn, cousin, that actually hurt—"

BANG.

The sound shattered the air.

For a second, no one moved.

Jack's smirk froze. His body went still. His lips parted slightly, as if trying to say something—but no words came.

Then, slowly… he collapsed.

Blood pooled beneath him, a dark red spreading across the marble floor. A single bullet. Straight through the skull.

Ken lowered his gun, his face blank.

The room was silent. Dead silent.

The other men at the table stared, stunned—none daring to speak.

Ken exhaled, rolling his shoulders like he had just gotten rid of an inconvenience. Then, without sparing Jack another glance, he put the safety back on and tucked the gun away.

Finally, he looked up. His voice was calm, steady—"Anyone else got something to say?"

No one did.