He owned corporations, luxury cars, rare watches—but not the one thing money never obeys: peace.
After a very public breakup with his fiancée, Rohan’s heart hardened. Trust became foreign to him. In his mind, kindness was always a disguise for greed.
That was when Kavya Iyer entered his life—a quiet, twenty-two-year-old woman with warm amber eyes and a voice that carried calm without effort.
She had come from a small hill village in Himachal Pradesh. Orphaned young, the job was her only anchor. The mansion felt unreal—polished floors, towering ceilings, art worth more than her entire childhood.
Yet Kavya never crossed her limits.
She cleaned, arranged, worked in silence, and always offered a gentle smile.
Rohan barely noticed her at first.
Until one night.
He was eating alone near the fireplace when he heard soft humming drifting through the hallway—an old lullaby, the kind sung by grandmothers to restless children.
Something in that fragile tune settled him. That night, he slept deeply for the first time in months.
Days later, a friend joked, “Careful with that new maid. Sweet faces hide sharp intentions.”
The words reopened old wounds. Suspicion returned.
Rohan decided to test her.