The Empire of Sadi Miller
“I Need a Boyfriend by Tomorrow,” the Plus-Size Maid Whispered—And Her Mafia Boss Heard Everything”
PART 1
I never expected my own family to be the reason I felt ashamed of existing.
But when my mother told me I would be sitting at table 12 near the kitchen at my sister’s wedding dinner, I realized something painful.
She wasn’t worried about me feeling uncomfortable.
She was worried about other people seeing me.
And the worst part?
She wasn’t the first person who had made me feel like I was something that needed to be hidden.
My name is Sadi Miller.
I was 28 years old, working fourteen-hour days in a mansion where nobody knew my favorite color, my dreams, or even the fact that I had once wanted to be an artist.
They only knew one thing.
I was the maid.
The woman who cleaned after powerful people.
The woman who disappeared into the background.
The woman nobody noticed.
Except that night, at exactly 2:00 in the morning, I broke.
The Rossi estate was silent.
Too silent.
The kind of silence that made a person feel like they were the only human left in the world.
The kitchen was enormous, all white marble, polished steel, and expensive appliances that probably cost more than my entire apartment.
But at that moment, it felt like the loneliest place on earth.
I stood beside the sink, scrubbing a heavy cast-iron pan until my hands burned.
My feet were swollen.
My shoulders ached.
My fingers were red from hot water and cleaning chemicals.
I had spent the entire day serving people who never looked me in the eyes.
That was my life.
Invisible.
Useful.
Forgotten.
Then my phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I already knew who it was before I looked.
My mother.
I wiped my hands on my apron and opened the messages.
The first one immediately made my stomach tighten.
“Are you still bringing a plus one tomorrow? I need to tell the caterer. It’s $150 a plate, Sadi.”
Then another.
“Chloe is already stressed. Please don’t make a scene by showing up alone.”
And then the one that hurt the most.
“Derek and his fiancée will be at table 4. I put you at table 12 near the kitchen so you don’t feel awkward.”
Near the kitchen.
Those three words stayed in my mind.
Because I knew what they really meant.
Stay away from the pictures.
Stay away from the important people.
Stay where nobody has to explain who you are.
I stared at the screen until my vision blurred.
Derek.
My ex-boyfriend.
The man who had once promised me forever.
The same man who had looked at me two years earlier and said something I never forgot.
“I need someone who takes care of themselves.”
Three months later, he was engaged to a woman who looked exactly like everything society told me I wasn’t.
Slim.
Perfect.
Effortlessly beautiful.
And tomorrow, I would have to sit in the same room as him.
Alone.
I placed my phone face down on the marble counter.
I tried to tell myself I didn’t care.
I was 28.
I paid my own bills.
I worked hard.
I survived.
But somehow, one message from my mother could make me feel like that insecure teenage girl who always wondered why she was never enough.
I looked at my reflection in the dark window above the sink.
The woman staring back at me looked exhausted.
My hair was messy.
My uniform was plain.
My eyes looked older than they should.
For years, I had tried to make myself smaller.
Take up less space.
Speak quieter.
Apologize more.
Because the world seemed to reward women who were easy to ignore.
And tomorrow, I was walking into a room full of people who had already decided I didn’t belong.
I turned on the faucet.
The water ran over my hands.
Warm.
Steady.
The only thing keeping me from falling apart.
Then the tears came.
Quietly at first.
Then all at once.
I covered my mouth, trying not to make a sound.
I didn’t want anyone to hear me.
Especially not him.
Roman Rossi.
The owner of the house.
The man everyone whispered about.
The man employees avoided looking at for too long.
Nobody knew exactly what Roman did.
They only knew he had power.
A dangerous amount of it.
I had learned one rule since working in his mansion:
Never ask questions you don’t want answers to.
I wiped my tears quickly.
But nobody was there.
Nobody cared.
So for the first time in years, I allowed myself to admit the truth.
“I can’t do this.”
My voice cracked.
I grabbed the edge of the counter.
“I can’t walk in there alone.”
The words felt embarrassing.
Pathetic.
Like I was admitting defeat.
Then I whispered the sentence I never thought I would say out loud.
“I need a boyfriend by tomorrow.”
The kitchen went silent.
Completely silent.
And then—
A voice answered.
Low.
Calm.
Too close.
“What time is the event?”
My entire body froze.
The blood drained from my face.
Slowly, I turned around.
And that was when I realized something terrifying.
I had not been alone.
At the far end of the kitchen, sitting in the shadows, was Roman Rossi.
Watching.
Listening.
The most intimidating man in Chicago had heard every word I said.
“Mr. Rossi…”
My voice barely came out.
“I—I didn’t know you were there.”
He didn’t move.
He just looked at me.
His eyes were impossible to read.
Not anger.
Not amusement.
Something else.
Something I couldn’t understand.
“I asked you a question, Sadi.”
His voice was quiet.
But somehow, it filled the entire room.
“What time is the event tomorrow?”
I looked away.
“It’s nothing. Just my sister’s rehearsal dinner.”
I reached for my phone.
“I was just talking to myself.”
But before I could move, Roman spoke.
“Table 12. Near the kitchen.”
My hand stopped.
My heart dropped.
He knew.
He had seen the messages.
The humiliation came rushing back.
“That’s private.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
The second they left my mouth, I regretted them.
Nobody spoke to Roman Rossi like that.
But instead of getting angry, he simply watched me.
Then he placed his glass down on the counter.
The sound echoed through the kitchen.
A small sound.
But it felt like a warning.
“You make my coffee every morning at 5:30.”
I said nothing.
“You remember exactly how I take it.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“When federal agents searched this house last month, everyone panicked.”
A pause.
“You kept cleaning.”
I swallowed.
“It’s my job.”
“No.”
Roman stood.
Slowly.
Calmly.
“You’re loyal.”
He walked around the island.
“You’re quiet.”
Another step.
“You don’t ask questions.”
He stopped a few feet away.
Then he looked directly at me.
“And tomorrow, you need a boyfriend.”
I didn’t understand.
“What?”
Roman’s expression didn’t change.
“Someone to sit beside you.”
A pause.
“Someone to make the people at table 4 regret underestimating you.”
I stared at him.
Because there was no way I had heard him correctly.
Then he said the words that changed everything.
“I’ll go with you.”
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was impossible.
“You?”
Roman Rossi.
The man whose name made people lower their voices.
“You want to come to my sister’s dinner?”
“Yes.”
“As my date?”
He looked at me.
“No.”
A beat.
“As your boyfriend.”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
I didn’t know what scared me more.
The fact that he was serious…
Or the fact that a small part of me wanted to believe him.
And then Roman said something that made my entire body go cold.
“Because I know exactly why you need me there.”
I stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
He reached for my phone.
Not aggressively.
Not forcefully.
He simply turned the screen toward me.
And then he said:
“Because tomorrow, Sadi, everyone who made you feel invisible is going to see exactly who was standing beside you.”
But before I could answer, Roman’s phone suddenly vibrated.
His expression changed.
Just slightly.
For the first time that night, I saw something different in his eyes.
Concern.
He looked at the message.
Then looked back at me.
And the next words he said made me realize this was never just about pretending to be my boyfriend.
“Sadi… we have a problem.”
“What problem?” I whispered, my heart slamming violently against my ribcage.
Roman turned his phone so the screen was visible to me. It wasn’t a text message from a business associate or a rival family. It was an internal alert from his head of security, accompanied by an attached file: a background dossier on Derek Vance.
“Your ex-boyfriend,” Roman said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. “He isn’t just marrying a woman from a wealthy family. His new father-in-law is Victor Vance—the man attempting a hostile takeover of my family’s logistics terminals at the Chicago port.”
I stared at the screen, my breath catching in my throat. “Derek… works for your rivals?”
“Derek is the lead auditor trying to seize my family’s assets,” Roman corrected softly, stepping closer until he towered over me, his broad frame blocking out the cold light of the kitchen. “For three months, I’ve been looking for a quiet way into Victor Vance’s inner circle before the board meeting on Friday. And tonight, my maid tells me she has an invitation to sit at the table right next to them.”
The realization hit me like a splash of freezing water. The humiliation, the wedding invitation, table 12—it wasn’t just a bitter coincidence. It was a strategic opening.
“So you don’t want to help me,” I said, a sudden sting of disappointment burning behind my eyes. “You just want to use my invitation to get close to Vance.”
Roman didn’t flinch. He reached out, his large, warm hand cupping my jaw with surprising gentleness, lifting my face until my eyes met his unwavering gray gaze.
“I need access to that dinner, Sadi—that’s the business,” he murmured, his thumb lightly brushing across my cheekbone. “But the part where Derek Vance and your mother watch the most feared man in Chicago pull out your chair, kiss your hand, and treat you like the only woman in the room? That’s personal.”
He tilted his head slightly, his grip on my jaw firm, protective, and unyielding.
“They put you at table 12 near the kitchen because they thought you were small,” Roman whispered against my lips. “Tomorrow night, Sadi, we’re going to make them realize table 12 is the head of the entire room.”
7:00 PM — The Grand Ballroom, The Drake Hotel
My mother stood by the entrance in an overly tight lavender lace gown, hovering near the seating chart like a hawk. Beside her, my sister Chloe was adjusting her veil while Derek and his sleek, blonde fiancée, Victoria Vance, chatted with a group of high-society investors near table 4.
“Where is she?” my mother muttered, checking her watch with an irritated sigh. “She’s going to ruin the entry photos. I knew I shouldn’t have—”
Her voice abruptly died.
The heavy double doors of the ballroom swung wide open.
Two towering men in tailored black suits stepped inside first, their eyes scanning the perimeter with lethal efficiency. Behind them stepped Roman Rossi, looking breathtakingly handsome in a custom charcoal tuxedo.
And on his arm was me.
I wasn’t wearing my plain uniform or a cheap dress from a department store bargain rack. Roman had sent a team of stylists to my apartment at three in the afternoon. I was wearing an emerald-green silk gown that hugged my curves in all the right places, flowing down to the floor like liquid velvet. My dark hair fell in soft, voluminous waves, and around my neck rested a vintage emerald necklace worth more than the entire wedding budget.
The entire ballroom went dead silent. Glasses stopped clinking. The string quartet missed a beat.
My mother’s mouth fell open. Derek froze mid-sentence, his champagne glass hovering inches from his lips as his eyes locked onto me—and then onto the man holding my waist.
“Is that… Roman Rossi?” Victoria’s father, Victor Vance, gasped from table 4, his face draining of all color.
Roman didn’t glance at Victor. He didn’t glance at the photographer. He kept his eyes locked entirely on me, leaning down to whisper in my ear so close his warm breath tickled my skin.
“Keep your head up, mia cara,” Roman murmured smoothly. “Let them choke on what they threw away.”
We walked past my mother, who looked as if she had just seen a ghost.
“S-Sadi?” my mother stammered, taking a trembling step forward. “Who… who is this?”
Roman stopped, turning to face my mother with a cold, aristocratic smile that could cut glass. He gently pulled my hand up and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to my knuckles, his dark eyes fixing on my mother’s terrified expression.
“I am Roman Rossi,” he said, his voice echoing across the silent room. “Sadi’s partner. And I believe there’s been a mistake on your seating chart.”
“A… a mistake?” my mother choked out.
“Sadi doesn’t sit near the kitchen,” Roman said softly, his voice dripping with absolute dominance as he gestured to his head of security. “Bring a private table to the center of the room. Sadi and I will be dining there.”
Derek stepped forward, his face flushed with confusion and deep, burning jealousy. “Sadi, what is this? You’re a maid! How do you know Roman Rossi?”
Roman turned his gaze onto Derek. The temperature in the room plummeted instantly.
“She isn’t a maid, Mr. Vance,” Roman said, stepping up to Derek until the younger man was forced to look up at him in sheer terror. “She is the woman who owns every room she walks into. And if you ever speak her name with anything less than absolute respect again, I will personally destroy your firm before the sun rises tomorrow.”
Derek stumbled back, completely silenced, while Victoria stared at me with wide, envious eyes. My mother stood frozen, unable to utter a single word as Roman guided me toward the center table that his men had just set up with crystal and fresh roses.
Roman pulled out my chair, bowing slightly with absolute devotion as I sat down.
As he took his seat across from me, holding my hand across the white tablecloth, I looked into his dark eyes and smiled—realizing that I was never going to hide, apologize, or feel invisible ever again.
