My Family Forced Me to Become a Maid at 17—But Every Night, I Secretly Entered the Millionaire’s Son’s Room

“No,” you answer. “Hope is useless if you don’t move.”

He looks at you then.

Really looks.

In that mansion, everyone treats Alejandro DeVega like broken furniture kept on the third floor because throwing him away would look cruel. His mother sends meals. His father sends doctors. His younger brother sends nothing. But nobody sends courage.

You begin with his left leg.