I wake up before 6 the next morning. I drag my tired body out of the comfortable bed because I know I have obligations. I haven't slept well, but I've slept better than previous days and at I least I slept in a comfortable bed and a warm room.

It's dark outside and the house is still quiet. I'm prepared for the cold to hit me, but it doesn't come and I sigh in relief. I've been so used to waking up to cold in the morning that this is actually a nice surprise.

Until I remember I'll have to deal with the dragon again. But I need to suck it up and deal with it because I can not screw this up. This job is well-paid and if that means I have to listen to stuck-up people and serve them with my head bowed down, I will certainly do that.

I dress in my old clothes that scream of how poor I'm currently living. I wrap my hair up in a ponytail, brush my teeth, wash my face with some warm water and then splashing it with a cold one to wake myself up some more and then I head down into the kitchen as quietly as I can.

I don't think anyone is up yet. The house is still dark and quiet even in the halls.

When I get into the kitchen, I check the menu again to make sure what to prepare for Mr Welch. It's an omelette for today and a fruit - any kind of fruit.

I don't know who would want to eat an omelette at 6 in the morning, or anything for that matter, but I'm not here to question their living, I'm just here to follow the rules. So if they want to eat an omelette at 6 in the morning, they're getting it.

I prepare the meal quietly, still not used to the big kitchen. I have some troubles in finding the cutlery and other dishes.

"Is there any particular reason the table is not set yet?"

I wasn't prepared for anyone to come in here and I really wasn't prepared to hear that voice again. "Qué chingados?!" I shriek, jumping up and then putting my palm down to calm myself down, but I press it directly on the hot stove and I yelp in pain. "Fuck, oh, fuck ...Mierda," I let out, my stomach churning.

"Miss Duarte."

I'm mortified. I'm also completely sure that, at this moment, I've lost my job. Well, I at least made around 80 pounds if my calculations are right.

"I'm sorry, I'm so -"

"Get your hand under the cool water," the booming voice orders just when I want to turn around. When I don't move fast enough, he raises his tone, saying a sharp, "Now!"

I react quickly. Because his tone doesn't allow objections and it's the tone that you subconsciously oblige, no matter what it says. I let the cold water run down my hand and I barely hold myself together to not start crying.

I messed up. I totally, utterly screwed this up. I can also smell the omelette burning and I'm starting to quietly sob now. What a mess.

Mr Welch comes to the stove and turns it off. And only now I get the first view of him.

He's ... extravagant. Again in his suit that had to be made only for him because no way could he go to a store and find a suit that fits his amazing body so good. He also looks completely waken up, as if it was in the middle of the day and not only 6 am. He's polished, his hair is not as ruffled as it was the previous evening, but his face has the same hard lines that make him look so intimidating.

I avert my gaze away from him because I feel unworthy of even looking at him in my old clothes and my tired, dull face.

I feel his strong presence at my side and I feel tears stinging my eyes again. But I'm not going to let myself cry. I'll get out of here with my head raised up high and with a fake confidence, pretending I'm stronger than I am.

"This is your second mistake with me, Miss Cassandra. I told you I'm not cutting you any slack just because you're new."

I nod my head, not speaking.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," comes Mr Welch's sharp demand.

I oblige immediately, turning my head to look at his cold stare. His eyes roam over my face and even though it makes me uncomfortable and self-conscious, I keep holding his stare. Because that was his demand. And I'm in a big enough mess and I can't screw it up any further.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" he asks me, a little gentler, although his eyes remain cold as a stone.

"I'm ..." I close my mouth. Really, what do I have to say for myself? "I probably didn't wake up soon enough, seeing that I'm still getting used to the kitchen and I don't know where everything is and I'm sorry."

I don't think that's going to be enough for him to let go, but I have to at least try.

"Good," Mr Welch speaks with his velvet voice, soft and gentle now. "I'm feeling generous and I'll make this your second warning. But, beware, I am not considered to be a generous man. If you work for me, Miss Duarte, you'll need to learn your duties and where your place is. I don't pay you to screw up. Are we clear?"

I nod my head, gulping. My whole body is shaking with fear. Not entirely from fearing him, but fearing of what he can do. He is, in fact, holding my job in his hands. One little slip and he can drop it on the floor and stomp all over it with his shiny, expensive shoes. And I'd be out on the street again.

"Show me your hand."

I stare at him.

He raises his eyebrow and blinks at me. Once. Then twice. I get so lost in his face that I completely overheard his demand. "What did I tell you about saying things twice?"

I immediately extend my arm, shoving my hand out to him. He keeps his eyes on my face, though. "I asked you a question, Cassandra."

Ay, Dios. My name on his lips, my name with his voice ... My stomach clenches, especially since his voice is still soft.

"That you don't say things twice, Mr Welch," I say with a strained voice.

His mouth quirks up in the corner and ay, Dios again, because my stomach is in knots. This man might be cold and strict, but he's handsome and all kinds of hot there exists and he knows it.

"You're learning," he observes with an undertone that I can't read.

I give him a forced smile, my emotions are still swirling inside of me and, damn it, it's too early for this.

And then Mr Welch takes my hand in his, wrapping his big fingers around my wrist and my heart stops beating. Literally. Stops. Beating. I look down at where our skin is touching and I instantly notice that even his hands are hot. Big, with long fingers and just plain hot.

He inspects my hand with a gentle care, his gaze focused on it. He lightly puts his fingers over the burnt area. I didn't burn my hand that much, it just slightly stings and the skin is red.

Although, right at this moment, I don't feel anything else but the electrical shocks running down my body at his touch. Ay, Dios mío.

"Come, we will put something over it so it doesn't get affected and it won't interfere with your work."

My legs carry me by themselves because my brain stopped functioning a long time ago.

Mr Welch leads me to the bathroom that's downstairs and opens one of the cabinets, taking a first-aid kit out. Firstly, he gently puts an anti-bacterial cream on it, massaging it into my skin very gently with his skilled fingers, his touch really soft.

And then he puts a gaze over the burn, placing it on my palm. I keep my eyes on what he's doing because I knew that if I looked at his face, my knees would most likely give out.

He starts cleaning up after him. "Please, I'll do that," I tell him when I finally find my voice.

Mr Welch ignores me and continues with the task. And then he turns to me. He also rests his eyes on my face, making my heart hammer in my chest yet again. I rest my hands on my stomach and I notice his eyes travelling down my body before they come back up again. "Refrain yourself from being clumsy the next time, Miss Duarte. We wouldn't want you hurt, now would we?"

My mouth slightly parts open. Is he teasing me? Oh, he is. He's totally teasing me, judging by the glint I see in his eyes.

I stupidly nod my head because I don't know anything else to say.

"Have a good day, Cassandra."

He puts his hand in his pocket and then turns around, turning his broad shoulders in my line of view. "You too, Mr Welch," I tell him when I find my voice again.

Milena comes down at 7 and she's surprised to see me up. "You're early," she comments.

I nod. "Mr Welch gave me orders to have a breakfast ready at 6.15."

"Mr Welch?" Milena asks, her eyebrows furrowing. "But he didn't -" And then she shuts up, staring at me. Her eyes go down my body before they come back to my face and her gaze softens. What is it with people's looks?

I look down at my clothes. Yes, they're old and they're not designer clothes, but they're simple clothes, nothing to stand out, making me even duller than I am.

"Oh. I see," Milena says.

"Pardon?" I ask in confusion, clearly not getting something.

"I see," Milena repeats and I still look at her dumbly. "You'll see it, too."

"Uhm ..."

"Help me prepare breakfast for Mrs Welch now, girl," Milena says and I immediately spur into action, not dwelling on her words too much.

Mrs Welch gives me a look of disgust when she sees me entering the dining room to serve her breakfast. I ignore her look and silently do what is expected of me.

I don't see much of her during the day, anyway. She stays in her office most of the time. I still don't know what their occupation is exactly.

Somewhere in the middle of the day, Roswelt finds me in one of the bathrooms I'm cleaning. "I have something for you, Miss Duarte."

I lift my head up and look at him from the floor where I am on my knees. "For me?" I ask.

"Yes. From Mr Welch."

And now my confusion grows. "Mr Welch?" I repeat stupidly.

Roswelt gives me a look. "Yes, Miss Duarte," he confirms.

I take the bag from his hands, looking at it like it's going to explode any second. "Uh, thank you," I say to Roswelt in a confused voice.

Roswelt tips his head and leaves the bathroom, leaving me alone with the bag in my hands. When I slide the zipper on the bag down, I see a dress. Not any dress, it's a maid dress. That stereotypical black and white dress that looks more like a costume.

I stare at it for long moments, wondering what to do with this. Am I expected to wear this? Dear God. This is humiliating. When I unzip the bag all the way down and take the dress out, I see it's really more of a costume than a uniform because it's very short and just ... small.

I shudder at the thought of wearing this. Besides, I don't see Milena wearing it.

There's a small paper attached to the dress and I take it in my hand, reading the handwritten words on it.

Your new uniform until further notice. Your attire was not appropriate

A. Welch

Oh, the nerve. I'm really supposed to wear this. Uniform my ass! This is what you wear to a carnival, not for a job.

I inhale deeply. I know this is an order and I have to oblige it.

I wonder what the A in Mr Welch's name stands for.

I take the dress to my room and change into it. I don't have any other choice, anyway.

I don't think I can afford to screw my job up anymore.

When I look myself into the mirror, I literally wince. I look like a joke. And a cheap hooker. And now I'm sure that this dress is meant to humiliate me.

If I didn't fall so low, I'd leave this house without looking back and never return. But I need this job. And I don't have time for job hunting, neither am I in a place to be picky. So I suck it up and leave the room in my new uniform.

Back to cleaning I go.