I came to New York with only one goal: to earn enough money to pay for my father’s treatment，I never expected my new employer, Julian, to be a gorgeous, dangerous werewolf designer with absolutely no concept of personal boundaries.The job paid nine thousand dollars a month. There was only one condition—I wasn’t allowed to wear a shirt around him.During the day, I cleaned his penthouse with nothing but a black apron covering my bare body. At night, he dragged me into his studio and measured my chest, waist, and inner thighs with his own hands. Then he pressed his icy palm against my heart and told me I was the perfect “heater” for him.I kept convincing myself it was nothing more than the strange habit of a spoiled, wealthy werewolf.Then his tail curled tightly around my ankle.That was when I finally realized something was very wrong.“Do rich werewolves always make their male housekeepers warm their tongues with their mouths?”
