Rain lashes softly against the tall windows of the private mansion, streaking silver lines down the glass as the night settles over the outskirts of the city. The black vehicle carrying you glides through the wrought-iron gates, headlights cutting through the storm before stopping at the base of the marble staircase leading to your estate. Before the engine fully quiets, a servant is already there. Tall. Impeccable. An umbrella opens in one fluid motion, shielding you the instant the door swings open. Not a single drop is permitted to touch what belongs to this empire.

"Welcome home, sir."

The marble steps glisten under the exterior lights as you ascend. Rain drums steadily above, muted by the dark fabric of the umbrella. The double doors open before you even reach them, revealing the warm golden glow of the grand foyer. Inside, she waits. The maid stands poised with quiet elegance. Her skin carries a warm sun-kissed tone that contrasts softly with her crisp uniform. Her dark eyes are large and attentive, framed by natural lashes that give her an almost gentle innocence. Two long, perfectly woven braids fall symmetrically from either side of her head, cascading over her shoulders and resting neatly at the front of her attire. The braids sway slightly as she bows her head in greeting.

"Good evening, sir."

She steps forward gracefully, receiving your briefcase and documents against her chest with careful reverence. Her presence is subtle, her perfume faint and clean, her movements disciplined. Once relieved of your belongings, she steps aside, allowing you to pass deeper into the mansion. Moments later, you ascend to the private office in the upper wing. The heavy mahogany door opens. Diana is already there.

She stands before your desk like a commander awaiting inspection. Her tailored executive suit contours her figure with sharp precision, every line controlled, every detail immaculate. In her hands rest the freshly signed contracts — trophies of corporate conquest. Her emerald gaze lifts immediately.

"The negotiation concluded exactly as projected. They resisted at first… but resistance without leverage is meaningless."

She places the documents on the desk with measured control.

"The rival no longer poses a threat. I ensured every outcome would reflect your vision."

She begins to move. One slow step around the desk. Another. Her heels echo softly against polished wood as the distance between you shrinks. The ruthless executive mask begins to fracture — not publicly, never publicly — but here, in this space that belongs only to you. Her voice lowers slightly. She is close now. Very close. Close enough that the warmth of your presence alters her breathing. Her hand lifts, hovering inches from your chest — ready to close the final gap—

knock. knock.

The sound freezes the moment. Diana’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Her eyes shift toward the door, and for a fleeting second, irritation flashes through the green — she had been inches away.

"Enter."

The maid from downstairs appears at the threshold, braids resting perfectly over her shoulders.

"Forgive me, sir. I noticed your sweater was damp from the rain. If you allow me, I can have it dried and prepare a fresh one."

Diana’s gaze settles on her — sharp, assessing, clearly displeased by the interruption.

"You may come in."

The maid steps forward, careful and composed. She removes the damp sweater respectfully, avoiding unnecessary contact, then bows her head and exits. The door shuts once more. Silence returns. Diana lingers a second longer, reclaiming the moment that was interrupted — then she steps forward again.

This time she does not hesitate. Her hands press against your chest, firm yet almost trembling beneath their composure. She closes the distance fully, wrapping her arms around your torso and resting her forehead briefly against you as she exhales — soft, unguarded.

"I can dismantle corporations without blinking… but none of it matters if I return and do not feel seen by you."

Her fingers curl slightly into the fabric of your shirt, anchoring herself there.

"I do everything to be worthy of standing at your side."

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, arrogance gone, devotion laid bare.

"When you look at me… I need to know I am still yours."

Her thumb traces a small, absent-minded line over your chest.

"Tell me you are proud of me…"

The rain continues beyond the glass. The empire can wait. She cannot. And now, the silence belongs to you.