Ferdinand's fists trembled at his sides, his chest heaving as he stared at his older brother. The red mark on his face stood out like a stain of pure, unadulterated humiliation.
"She put her hands on me, Alejandro!" Ferdinand spat, taking a violent step into the study, his voice raw with fury. "She's a servant. A fucking nobody! She slapped me across the face in my own room. You don't take my trash and put it on a pedestal!"
"She isn't your trash," Alejandro replied smoothly, taking a single, measured step forward that forced Ferdinand to check his momentum. His tone remained deathly calm, which only seemed to ignite Ferdinand's rage further. "And as of two minutes ago, she isn't just any kitchen staff either. She's just mine."
"She belongs in a jail cell or out on the street!" Ferdinand snarled, his eyes bulging as he pointed a finger toward Jamila, who stood quietly behind Alejandro, her jaw set firm.
"You're taking her side over your own brother? Over a maid?"
"I am taking charge of a situation you clearly couldn't handle," Alejandro said, his green eyes cutting through Ferdinand like razor blades. "If you have an issue with how I manage household assignments, feel free to take it up with Father when he arrives. Until then, get out of my office."
At the mention of their father, Ferdinand's expression darkened into something toxic.
His jaw clenched so hard a vein throbbed on his temple. He glared past Alejandro's shoulder, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Jamila with unspoken promises of absolute destruction.
"This isn't over," Ferdinand sneered, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper before he spun on his heel and slammed the heavy oak doors behind him so hard the glass panes rattled.
The silence returned, thick and suffocating.
Jamila let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her throat tight as her mind raced.
"Follow me," Alejandro commanded, not bothering to check if she complied as he walked out into the corridor.
Jamila smoothed down her apron, her wild curls brushing her shoulders, and kept pace behind him through the quiet east wing, past the central courtyard, and into a secluded section of the servants' quarters.
Unlike the cramped, shared dormitories where the rest of the staff slept, this hallway contained only three private suites reserved for senior personal aides.
Alejandro pushed open the door to the corner room. It was surprisingly spacious—furnished with a crisp queen-sized bed, a private bathroom, and a small sitting area near a window overlooking the estate gardens.
"This is yours now," Alejandro said, stepping inside.
Jamila looked around the room, bewildered, before her gaze snapped back to him. Why give me this? she thought, her mind working furiously. She knew men like Alejandro Garcia did nothing out of kindness. He hadn't asked about her well-being or offered comfort; he had moved with the ruthless efficiency of a grandmaster moving a piece across a chessboard.
She remembered the look on Ferdinand's face when he saw her standing beside Alejandro—the sheer, unadulterated fury of a spoiled child who had just had his favorite toy snatched away. Jamila's eyes narrowed slightly as the truth clicked in her mind. Alejandro didn't care about protecting her dignity for her own sake. He had seen Ferdinand lose his cool over her rejection, and he was weaponizing her presence to drive his brother over the edge.
She was a trophy of defiance, placed right where Ferdinand couldn't touch her, meant to chip away at his ego until he made a fatal mistake.
Before Jamila could speak, Alejandro snapped his fingers toward the hallway.
"In. All of you."
A moment later, three of the senior maids—including the older woman who had taunted Jamila earlier about her hair—scurried into the doorway, their eyes wide as they took in Jamila's untied hair, her private quarters, and the presence of the eldest Garcia heir.
"From this moment," Alejandro announced, his voice dropping into the cold, unyielding register he used for subordinates, "Jamila is no longer under your commands. She answers exclusively to me as my personal maid. None of you will assign her tasks, none of you will touch her belongings, and if I hear of a single word of disrespect toward her, you will be escorted off the grounds without your final pay. Dismissed."
The maids scrambled backward, bowing their heads frantically before vanishing down the hall, their minds clearly blown by the sudden rise of the girl they had mocked hours earlier.
Alejandro stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him. The heavy click of the latch echoed through the quiet space.
Jamila backed up until the back of her knees hit the edge of the plush mattress, keeping her arms folded. "You didn't have to make a spectacle of them."
"I established boundaries," Alejandro said, his voice quiet as he took slow, deliberate steps toward her.
The air in the small room condensed instantly, growing heavy and thick with an unspoken friction. "Now, let us establish yours."
He stopped right in front of her, so close she could smell the clean, dark scent of cedarwood, rich tobacco, and the warm heat rising from his skin.
"My morning ritual starts at six sharp," Alejandro murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips before lingering on the rapid flutter of the pulse in her throat. "I expect dark coffee, no sugar, and fresh fruit waiting in my private study. Not the dining room. My study."
"I can handle that, Mr. Garcia," Jamila replied, straining to keep her voice level despite the strange, magnetic current pulling at her senses.
"When I return from business or outside meetings in the evening," Alejandro continued, his voice lowering into a deep, gravelly purr that sent a sharp tremor straight down her spine, "I am usually tense. You will have a warm, scented towel waiting for me. And if the day has been particularly demanding..." He reached out, his long, calloused fingers lightly tracing the curve of her neck, barely making contact, yet setting her skin ablaze where he hovered. "...you will massage the tension from my shoulders until I tell you to stop."
Jamila's breath hitched in her chest. She attempted to step back, but the edge of the bed pinned her in place. "Mr. Garcia..."
"Alejandro," he corrected softly, his hand sliding up to lightly grasp her chin, tilting her head up. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip—slow, firm, and deliberate. It was a gesture laced with subtle authority, yet wrapped in a raw, dangerous heat that made her pulse thunder against her ribs. "You will be at my beck and call, day and night. You will wear what I select for you. And whenever my brother is in the room, you will stand near me."
His green eyes locked onto hers, burning with an intensity that went far beyond household rules or subtle family power plays. Jamila stared back, her heart hammering, refusing to lower her gaze even as her body reacted to his proximity with an embarrassing, dangerous heat.
Alejandro leaned down slightly, his breath brushing warm against her cheek. He could feel the fire radiating off her, the raw defiance in her dark eyes, and the intoxicating scent of her skin. For a sudden, breathless second, the calculating composure he prided himself on shattered. A sharp, primitive urge surged through him—an overwhelming impulse to sink his fingers into her wild curls, to pull her body flush against his, and taste the fire he had been watching all morning.
His own heart kicked against his ribs with a heavy, uncharacteristic rhythm.
The realization hit Alejandro like a bucket of ice water. He was supposed to be using this girl to dismantle his brother—yet standing in this room, breathed in by her scent and held captive by her gaze, he realized he was the one losing his grip.
Alejandro abruptly jerked his hand away as if he'd touched a live wire.
He took two quick steps back, his face instantly locking into a mask of cold stone, though a faint muscle twitched dangerously in his jaw. He cleared his throat, adjusting his tailored coat with sharp, rigid movements, completely refusing to meet her eyes again.
"Your new uniform will be brought to you shortly," he said, his tone icy and clipped, entirely stripped of the heat that had filled the room a second prior. "Do not leave this room today until I send for you."
Without waiting for her reply, Alejandro turned on his heel, yanked the door open, and walked out, shutting it firmly behind him—leaving Jamila alone in the quiet room, her lips still tingling, her chest heaving, and a chilling realization settling in her mind.