Charles was momentarily taken aback by the girl's courage.
There was something contradictory about her… an innocence she projected, yet her words carried experience beyond what he expected.
Not that he had high expectations of her, coming from a club.
Still, he found her a bit intriguing.
But just as quickly as the thought surfaced, he dismissed it.
"Please, cut the thoughts," he finally said, his voice calm, his smirk cold.
She needed to stop hallucinating.
He would never touch her.
She was out of his league.
But there was something amusing about her flustered, timid expression.
He was tempted to toy with her just a little.
Emily met his gaze, a flicker of doubt crossing her face, as if dissatisfied with his answer.
So, then…
"It seems you're disappointed, Ms. Greyson. Are you?" His voice held an unmistakable tease.
His eyes narrowed slightly, the smirk curling at the edge of his lips carrying a dangerous charm.
Emily was momentarily dazed… his elegance, his effortless magnetism, it was all too distracting.
By the time she processed his words, realization hit her like a slap.
"No! I am not!" she blurted, voice too loud, too defensive.
Her cheeks burned nonstop, as if her entire face had decided to betray her.
Charles tilted his head slightly, feeling his ear ring from her sudden outburst.
She was like a blinking doll running on faulty batteries, her frantic eyes opening and closing as though it would erase her humiliation.
Her cheeks? As red as potatoes left too long in the sun.
He scowled inwardly, but his demeanor remained composed, his nobility intact.
"Before anything else…" He paused, holding her gaze with a look that pinned her in place.
His tone dipped—serious, deliberate.
"I don't share my bed with strangers. I don't touch random girls. And most importantly…" His voice lowered, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
"I don't entertain fans."
The weight of his words settled between them, thick with meaning.
"Do I need to say more?"
Emily didn't need him to finish his thought to understand what he meant.
Charles had standards. Unspoken rules.
He didn't associate with those beneath his world.
Reality hit her hard.
She shouldn't have been relieved—but somehow, she wasn't entirely.
Deep down, she knew she should feel thankful that he wouldn't touch her.
That he would never touch her.
And yet…
She felt disappointment creeping in.
Because in this lifetime, Charles Adam would never see her as a woman.
Would never love her.
A dull ache formed in her chest, and she found herself shaking her head absentmindedly.
'What was I thinking?'
'Did I actually believe—just for a second—that Charles, the superstar, the untouchable elite, wanted to be with me?'
'That's ridiculous, Emily.'
'Who are you, anyway?'
A club attendant.
A girl without a mother.
A girl was abandoned by her father.
A girl struggling to survive, to scrape together pieces of a broken life.
Reality was cruel.
She released a bitter, self-deprecating smile.
She felt humiliated by her own foolish thoughts.
But then…
Why had Charles brought her here?
Why had he appeared before her tonight?
Just as doubt clawed its way deeper into her chest, Charles leaned forward, his demeanor shifting.
"Since we are clear on that matter, let's get down to business."
Emily hesitated, her eyes darting to the black folder in front of her.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Charles gestured for her to open it, using his index finger to slide it toward her.
Her curiosity outweighed her nerves.
Emily flipped it open…
And her eyes widened.
The bold, capitalized letters stared back at her—clear, unmistakable.
Emily felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck her.
An employment contract?
She was being offered a job.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the document, her gaze flickering between the crisp paper and the man seated before her.
Frowning deeply, she met Charles's eyes, disbelief evident in every crease of her expression.
Silent questions filled the space between them.
"I want you to work for me, Ms. Greyson." His voice was steady, deep, and unwavering.
Emily blinked.
Doubt churned within her as she tried to focus on the words in the contract, but the weight of this moment—the sheer unexpectedness of it—clouded her ability to comprehend the details.
Charles caught the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes immediately.
"I want you to be my brother's servant."
There was a slight edge to his voice, restrained impatience beneath his carefully composed demeanor.
Emily stared at him, her mind struggling to make sense of what she was hearing.
His brother?
He wasn't playing with her… was he?
Did rich people toy with the emotions of those beneath them for entertainment?
"Why me?" she asked, confused, her voice barely above a whisper.
She couldn't tear her gaze away from Charles's impossibly perfect face.
His family was the wealthiest in the city.
Surely, they could afford the most experienced and highly skilled professionals to serve them.
Why her?
As if reading her thoughts, Charles exhaled lightly, his expression unreadable.
Earlier…
The call had come unexpectedly.
Warren Adam, Charles's younger brother, had contacted him.
Since their parents' tragic deaths, Warren had rarely reached out.
A car accident had taken their lives.
Warren had survived, but not without consequence… he had been left paralyzed.
It was an opportunity Charles couldn't ignore.
He had immediately asked his manager, Carlos William, to cancel all his scheduled commitments for the day.
Nothing was more important than his brother.
Guilt weighed heavily on him.
It had been his place that Warren took in that car.
Five years ago, their grandmother's death anniversary had brought the family together, as tradition dictated.
They were all meant to visit her gravesite.
But that day, Charles had received an urgent call from Carlos.
A massive project had landed… an endorsement deal for an internationally renowned fashion brand.
It was owned by Carlos's first cousin, making it not just a career move but a personal favor.
Carlos had always stood by him, managing his chaotic schedule, handling his temper, keeping his world intact.
In return, Charles had agreed to the project.
Warren had asked to go with him, but Charles had refused, insisting that he go with their parents instead.
"You'll represent me while I'm away," Charles had told him.
Their grandmother had adored them both.
Warren had been reluctant but had eventually agreed on one condition.
"Bring me sushi when you get back."
His favorite dish.
Charles had laughed, messing up Warren's hair before heading toward his car.
The last memory before everything changed.
Since the accident, Warren had become a shell of himself.
The once carefree, loving brother had shut himself away, drowning in bitterness and resentment.
None of his caretakers lasted more than a week.
They all resigned, fleeing his unbearable temper.
Master Frederick Adam, their grandfather, had taken over their upbringing.
Luckily, he had been in a separate vehicle when the accident occurred.
He was the one who had called Charles that day… the one who had shattered his world with just a few words.
Charles had disappeared for an entire year, grieving, bearing the weight of guilt.
And now…
Inside a bar, Warren had suddenly come alive for the first time in years.
"Brother, that girl… that girl."
Seated in his motorized wheelchair, Warren had pressed forward toward the glass wall, fixated on the woman outside.
His eyes sparkled, filled with something Charles hadn't seen in a long time.
Excitement.
A renewed sense of life.
"Look at that angel," Warren had murmured, his tone breathless.
Charles observed him quietly, noting how his brother's energy had shifted entirely.
"Brother, before I die… can you make her my wife?" Warren had half-joked, half-dreamed. "It's love at first sight. Don't you think?"
Charles had simply watched.
It had been a long time since Warren had shown any interest in anything.
Then…
The woman had walked away.
Warren's joy had shattered.
"Wait! Where is she going? Wait!"
Desperation overtook him.
He stood up instinctively, attempting to follow…
Only to collapse.
Charles had been too late to catch him.
Rage consumed Warren.
He grasped at the floor, crawling toward the table, knocking everything over.
Glass shattered.
Bottles crashed.
The room turned into chaos.
But Charles remained still, calm, unmoved by the destruction.
This was Warren now.
This was Warren every day.
His guilt prevented him from resenting his brother's outbursts.
Once Warren had exhausted his fury, Charles had finally stepped forward, tapping his shoulder.
"If this girl is important to you… I'll bring her to you."
And just like that, Warren had smiled.
Like nothing had happened.
Charles had offered his hand, lifting him back into his wheelchair.
"Promise me, brother. She's mine. And mine alone."
Charles had pushed Warren's wheelchair forward.
Possessiveness.
His therapist had warned them that Warren's broken spirit had developed a need for control.
For ownership.
For something he could claim completely.
That something was her.
Warren blamed Charles for his condition.
Their once strong relationship had turned into resentment.
So, Charles had agreed.
"I promise."
For Warren's sake.
For hope.
Once Warren had left the bar, Charles had immediately gathered Emily Greyson's information.
And now…
He sat before her, reading the confusion in her eyes.
"Why me, Charles?"
She deserved an honest answer.
But honesty would scare her away.
So instead, he lied smoothly.
"Well, I saw you working earlier, and I believe you're perfect for the job."
Emily's face lit up at his words.
Her excitement was instantaneous, like a switch had flipped.
And Charles already knew her response.
Her smile was answer enough.
"Is that a…?"
She interrupted him before he could finish.
"Yes!"
A foolishly easy agreement.
He had expected nothing less.
What more could he expect from a club attendant?
If not for Warren, he wouldn't have bothered handling this himself.
He wouldn't have gotten close to her kind of woman.
Charles handed her the gold pen.
Without hesitation—without questioning anything further—
Emily signed the contract.
And Charles…
Smirked.
That had been too easy.
He almost felt bored.
Until she spoke again.
"Can I start right now?"