Jamila's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird as she burst out of Ferdinand's room, her palm still burning from the impact with his cheek. She didn't look back. She practically sprinted down the long, carpeted corridor, her breathing shallow and ragged, her mind racing through emergency plans.
Get to the servants' quarters.
Pack the small canvas bag under the bed. Run before he calls security.
She hit the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time, her fingers tightly gripping the polished mahogany banister. Ferdinand's threat echoed in her ears—his father's reach is long enough to ensure you never work in this country again. She knew men like Ferdinand didn't suffer bruised egos lightly; he would destroy her just to prove he could.
"Jamila."
A sharp, authoritative voice sliced through the hum of the main foyer. Jamila froze on the bottom step, every muscle locking up.
It wasn't Ferdinand.
Standing near the tall arched entryway of the mansion's east wing was the older brother she had encountered earlier. He had discarded his casual sweatpants and was now wearing a tailored, dark charcoal suit coat over an unbuttoned dress shirt. He looked formidable, cold, and entirely in control—a stark contrast to his reckless younger brother.
He gestured with two fingers toward his study.
"In here."
Jamila swallowed hard, her pulse spiking again. Had Ferdinand already alerted him?
Was this where they held her until the authorities—or worse, private security—arrived to take her away?
She took a slow step backward toward the main front doors. "Sir, I... I need to leave. I'm resigning."
The man turned his head slowly, his piercing green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that pinned her to the spot. "I didn't ask if you were resigning, Jamila. I told you to step into my office."
When she hesitated, he didn't raise his voice.
Instead, he took three measured, deliberate steps toward her. Up close, his height and sheer presence were suffocating. He stopped just inches away, looking down at her frantic eyes, then down at her right hand—the palm flushed bright pink from where she had struck Ferdinand.
A barely perceptible tilt appeared at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remained dangerously cool.
"My name is Alejandro," he said, his voice a low, commanding rumble that vibrated through the small space between them. "And in this house, when I give an order, even Ferdinand obeys. Come inside."
Realizing she had no immediate escape route with two armed guards standing near the front gates, Jamila squared her shoulders, holding onto whatever dignity she had left, and walked past him into the study.
The study was vast and smelled of rich leather, expensive tobacco, and old paper.
Heavy oak bookcases lined the walls, and a massive mahogany desk sat before floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate's sprawling grounds.
Alejandro walked in behind her, shutting the heavy double doors with a solid, echoing thud. The silence in the room felt heavy, suffocating.
"Sit," he said, gesturing toward a leather armchair across from his desk.
"I prefer to stand, Mr. Garcia," Jamila replied, her voice remarkably steady despite the tremor in her hands. She folded her arms, subtly hiding her flushed palm.
Alejandro didn't insist. He leaned back against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest, studying her with a clinical, unhurried scrutiny. It wasn't the predatory gaze Ferdinand had given her in the kitchen; it was something far more calculating. He was reading her like an equation he was determined to solve.
"Saw my brother come out of his room a minute after you did," Alejandro said casually. "He was holding an ice pack to his face, cursing in three languages, and demanding the chief of security throw a 'thieving maid' off the property."
Of course he'd seen. There were cameras in the hallway too.
Jamila's stomach dropped. "I am not a thief!"
"I know," Alejandro said smoothly. "If you were a thief, you would have taken his watch, not given him a black eye."
Jamila held her breath, uncertain of what his angle was.
"Do you have any idea what you just did?" Alejandro asked, stepping closer to her. He towered over her, his shadow swallowing her completely. "You struck the youngest heir of the Garcia empire inside his own home. Men have disappeared into the night for far less."
"He put his hands on me," Jamila said, refusing to back down, her dark eyes flashing with fierce defiance. "He insulted my background and threatened my freedom. I don't care how many millions your family has, Mr. Garcia—no one gets to treat me like trash."
Alejandro stared at her. For a fraction of a second, something flared in his green eyes—a flicker of dark intrigue, an unexpected flame ignited by her unyielding fire. Most people in this house shrank beneath his gaze. This girl, in her cheap maid's uniform and severe hair bun, was glaring right back at him like a warrior.
"Spoken like someone who thinks she can simply walk out those gates and disappear," Alejandro murmured, taking another step forward until he was standing directly in front of her. The heat of his body radiated off him, clean and sharp, carrying the dark scent of cedar and rain.
"You think you can just hop on a bus and leave the Garcias behind?"
"I'll go back to South Africa if I have to," she challenged, leaning upward slightly to match his height. "Your family doesn't own the world."
"No," Alejandro said softly, his voice dipping into a silky, dangerous thread. "But we own every port, airport official, and border control agent within five hundred miles. If Ferdinand wants to ruin you, you won't even make it past the city line."
Jamila felt a sudden, terrifying chill sweep down her spine. The reality of her situation settled in. She was trapped.
"So what are you going to do?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, though her eyes remained ablaze. "Turn me over to him?"
Alejandro reached out. His long, calloused fingers hovered near her face for a heart-stopping second before he reached past her neck to gently tug the elastic band from her hair.
Her thick, dark curls tumbled down instantly, cascading around her shoulders in a wild, defiant frame.
Jamila gasped, her heart leaping into her throat at the sudden intimacy of the gesture, but Alejandro didn't touch her skin. He merely held the hairband between his fingers, his eyes tracking the way her wild curls framed her striking face.
"Ferdinand is an arrogant child who thinks everything in this world is a toy for his taking," Alejandro said softly, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. "He wanted you broke and begging. But I see something much more useful."
"Useful?" Jamila demanded, taking a quick step back to break the heavy tension thickening the air between them. "I am not a pawn for your family games."
"You are whatever I decide you are while you're under this roof," Alejandro countered, stepping toward her again, closing the distance effortlessly. He reached out and grabbed her wrist—not painfully, but with a firm, iron grip that made it impossible for her to pull away.
She tugged against his grip, her breath hitching as his thumb brushed over her racing pulse point on her wrist. The contact hit like a jolt of electricity, sharp and magnetic.
"Starting today, you no longer answer to the head maid, " Alejandro commanded, his eyes burning with an unreadable, intense possessiveness. "You work directly for me. You are my very own personal maid."
Jamila stared at him, stunned.
"What? Why would you do that?"
"Because Ferdinand wants you," Alejandro whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "And nothing drives my brother crazier than seeing what he desperately desires sitting right on my desk, entirely out of his reach."
"You're using me to hurt your brother."
"I am giving you protection, Jamila,"
Alejandro corrected softly, pulling her just half an inch closer, his green eyes locking onto hers with a dark, suffocating intensity. "Without my name shielding you, Ferdinand will destroy your life by sunset. Under my wing, you're untouchable. But it comes at a price."
"What price?" she demanded, her voice trembling slightly under the electric pull between them.
Alejandro smiled—a dangerous, breathtaking sight that sent a shiver straight down her spine.
"You belong to my section of the house now," he murmured and pulled back, leaving her skin tingling where he had touched her. "And you don't leave this estate until I say you're ready."
Before Jamila could utter another word, the heavy double doors of the study flew open with a slam, rattling the glass windows.
Ferdinand stood on the threshold, a purple-red bruise already blooming along his jawline, his eyes bloodshot with rage. His glare darted from Alejandro to Jamila—noticing her untied, cascading hair and her close proximity to his older brother.
"What the hell is she doing in here, Alejandro?" Ferdinand snarled, his fist clenched at his side. "She's fired. Hand her over!"
Alejandro didn't even flinch. He casually stepped between Jamila and Ferdinand, placing himself as a tall, impenetrable barrier.
"She doesn't report to you, Ferdinand," Alejandro said, his tone icy and smooth. "She's mine now."
Ferdinand's face twisted into pure fury, the air in the room instantly turning volatile as the two brothers locked eyes in a silent, deadly war. Jamila stood frozen behind Alejandro, her heart hammering against her ribs, realizing she had just been plunged into a far more dangerous game than she could have ever imagined.