The roar of the luxury convoy faded as the fleet rolled past the front gates. The foyer breathed a collective sigh of relief, the tension easing slightly, though the staff immediately scattered to execute Catalina's strict orders.
Jamila stood near the grand archway, clutching the black secondary smartphone Alejandro had given her inside her apron pocket. She turned to make her way back toward the east wing when a figure stepped into her path.
It was one of the younger maids—a girl with sharp, observant hazel eyes and sandy brown hair pulled into a neat ponytail.
"How did you do it?" the girl asked directly.
Jamila's jaw set instantly, her dark eyes flashing with defense. She assumed this was another round of cruel kitchen gossip. "I don't have time for this," Jamila said coolly, attempting to brush past her. "I have work to do."
"Hold on," the maid said, stepping beside her and offering a soft cotton duster. "We need to clean the main dining table before they get back anyway. And I don't hate you, by the way. I'm just genuinely curious."
Jamila hesitated, taking the duster cautiously as they walked together toward the grand dining hall. "You don't?"
"No," the maid said, shrugging as she began wiping down the polished mahogany chairs. "My name is Elena. And the only reason the other girls in the kitchen are throwing venom at you is because almost every single one of them has slept with Ferdinand at least once. And not one of them ever got half the treatment you're getting now. So everyone is dying to know what kind of spell you've cast."
Jamila let out a weary, bitter breath, polishing the edge of the massive table. "I didn't cast any spell, Elena. I refused to sleep with him. That's literally all it is. His ego couldn't take a 'no.'"
Elena stopped scrubbing and turned to look at Jamila, a skeptical eyebrow raised. "What about Alejandro?"
Jamila frowned. "What about him?"
Elena continued, leaning over the table. "He's not one to look at servants. He doesn't bring maids to his section of the house. He doesn't move people into private suites or personally pull them up when they get pushed on the floor. Everyone thinks you must have slept with both brothers to get this kind of special treatment."
Jamila's head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock. "I haven't slept with either of them."
Elena chuckled softly, shaking her head as she returned to her work. "Well, whatever is going on between you two, just be careful, Jamila. In this house, being noticed by a Garcia like that is a death sentence."
Jamila went quiet, absorbing Elena's warning as she finished dusting the silverware, her chest tight with unvoiced anxieties.
Three hours later, the grand estate transformed into a fortress of absolute discipline.
At exactly two in the afternoon, the heavy double doors of the mansion swung open, and Don Hector Garcia stepped into the grand foyer.
The patriarch's presence was magnetic and suffocating, radiating a primal, terrifying authority that commanded instant silence. He was in his late fifties, his silvered dark hair slicked back, wearing a bespoke pinstripe suit that screamed unyielding power. Beside him walked his children—Alejandro, Ferdinand, Catalina, and the rest of the family—all bearing a striking, breathtaking resemblance to the man who built the empire. They possessed the same razor-sharp jawlines, commanding statures, and piercing green eyes that made everyone in their shadow feel impossibly small.
Hector didn't glance at the line of bowing servants. He marched straight to the grand dining hall, his voice echoing as he discussed offshore acquisitions with Alejandro.
Dinner was served shortly after. The table groaned under silver platters of prime cuts, aged wine, and vintage champagne. Hector sat at the head of the long table, flanked by Alejandro on his right and Ferdinand on his left.
Both brothers were on their absolute best behavior. Their lethal rivalry was carefully buried beneath smooth smiles and sharp business insights, each eager to prove to their father that he was the rightful heir to Garcia Enterprises.
Jamila stood near the wall with the rest of the serving staff, holding a silver bucket with a chilled bottle of Krug champagne.
Alejandro casually wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, his green eyes scanning the line of staff until they locked onto Jamila. Without breaking his conversation with his father about European shipping lanes, Alejandro raised two fingers, making a subtle gesture for Jamila to come stand directly beside his chair.
Jamila swallowed hard, feeling the immediate weight of several venomous glares. She took a step forward, but before she could cover three feet, Ferdinand's sharp voice sliced across the table.
"Hey, you. Get over here," Ferdinand commanded, pointing directly at Jamila. "My glass is empty."
Alejandro's jaw tightened, his gaze snapping to his brother. "I called her first, Ferdinand."
Ferdinand leaned back, a dark, mocking tilt to his head. "There's a fleet of other maids standing by the wall, brother. Call someone else. I want her to refill my glass."
The air at the table instantly turned brittle. Catalina lowered her wine glass, shooting a desperate, warning glare at both of her brothers.
Alejandro's green eyes narrowed into slits. "She is my personal maid. She answers to me only."
"Is there a problem, boys?"
Hector's deep, gravelly voice cut through the air like a knife. The patriarch hadn't raised his voice, but the sheer weight of his attention made both Ferdinand and Alejandro check their tempers instantly.
"No problem at all, Father," Ferdinand lied smoothly, flashing a practiced, charm-filled smile. "Just coordinating the service."
"Indeed," Alejandro added, his tone entirely composed as he gestured to a secondary maid to serve Ferdinand. "Nothing to worry about."
Hector's sharp eyes lingered on his two sons for a long, heavy second before shifting toward Jamila. "Girl. Come here and pour the champagne."
"Yes, sir," Jamila whispered softly, stepping forward with the bottle wrapped in a white cloth. She carefully filled Hector's crystal flute, her hands steady despite the suffocating tension hovering over the table.
As she finished and stepped back to retreat toward the wall, Catalina's polished high heel subtly extended from beneath the table.
Jamila's foot caught the edge of Catalina's shoe.
With a sharp gasp, Jamila lost her balance, stumbling violently. The silver tray clattered loudly against the hardwood floor, and a droplet of champagne splashed against the edge of Catalina's dress.
"Watch it, you clumsy oaf!" Catalina shrieked, jumping up from her chair and brushing frantically at her skirt. "Look what you've done! Get out of here!"
The entire dining hall went dead silent. Don Hector frowned in mild annoyance, while Ferdinand hid a smirk behind his napkin. Alejandro's face went stone-cold, his eyes tracking Jamila as she gathered her composure, her cheeks burning with pure humiliation.
"I'm so sorry, ma'am," Jamila choked out, keeping her chin up despite the stinging embarrassment. "Excuse me."
Jamila quickly turned on her heel and retreated out of the dining hall, hurrying down the quiet, dimly lit corridor toward the service pantry to compose herself.
A moment later, Catalina smoothly excused herself from the table. "Forgive me, Father. I need to clean this stain."
Catalina slipped out of the dining room, her heels clicking briskly against the marble until she reached the service pantry. She pushed the door open, stepping inside and letting it click shut behind her.
Jamila was standing by the sink, taking deep breaths, her fingers gripping the edge of the marble counter. She turned as Catalina walked in, her body tensing again.
"Miss Garcia—"
"Shut up," Catalina spat, her voice dropping into a cold, vicious thread. She stepped close, her sharp green eyes burning into Jamila's face with absolute disdain. "Do you really think you're clever, girl?"
Jamila stood her ground, her spine rigid. "I tripped, Miss Garcia. I didn't mean to—"
"I'm not referring to my dress," Catalina sneered, taking another step into her space.
"I care about my family. I see what you're doing. You think because my brothers are squabbling over you that you've secured some kind of ticket out of the gutter? Whatever little game you think you're playing, it won't work."
Jamila's dark eyes flashed with quiet anger, refusing to shrink beneath her intimidation. "I am not playing any games."
"Listen to me very carefully," Catalina warned, poking a long, manicured finger into Jamila's shoulder. "My brothers are Garcias. They will play with you, they will fuck you, and when they are done, they will throw you back into the dirt where they found you. Stay away from Alejandro. Stay away from Ferdinand. If you cause one more scene in front of my father, I will personally make sure you vanish before nightfall."
Without waiting for a response, Catalina turned on her heel, smoothed down her dress, and walked out, leaving Jamila alone in the quiet pantry, her pulse racing as the reality of her situation tightened around her neck.