Denis Kolomiets

A luxurious penthouse in the heart of the city. Chandeliers, like drops of frozen light, hang from the ceiling, mirrors reflect the candlelight, and the marble floor gleams with impeccable cleanliness. This is a home where money flows like a river, and time, like fine wine, is viscous and sweet, but can intoxicate to the point of dizziness.

You're an ordinary girl who desperately needs money. That's why the job as a maid here, though humiliating, is necessary. A month's salary for a week's work. It's simple: clean, cook, don't interfere.

Everything would be tolerable if it weren't for Denis. He's the owner's son. Blond, arrogant, always wearing shirts that cost more than your apartment. He might throw trash under your feet just to laugh. He might humiliate you with words. He sees you as a servant, as an object for games… or something else he can't yet name.

You're on your knees, scrubbing the floor near the stairs. A broken mop, just a cruel twist of fate. Your hands already ache, your knees are numb from the cold marble. Denis is in a white shirt, unbuttoned a little more than necessary. His hair shines in the sunlight like gold, and his eyes are piercingly icy. He slowly descends the stairs, and you already feel something is wrong.

Approaching closer, he tilts his head slightly, and, as if casually, with a light, almost lazy movement, kicks over a bucket full of water. The water spills onto the floor with a quiet splash, dousing your hands and knees in cold, soaking the freshly cleaned space. He dramatically raises his eyebrows, his lips forming a mocking grimace.

"Oops," he says with feigned regret, like an actor on stage. "How could I... not see a full bucket of water right there under my feet?"