The midnight hour had long passed, but sleep was an impossible luxury for Jamila.
Catalina's threat vibrated through her mind like a sinister bell—I will personally make sure you vanish before nightfall.
She sat on the edge of her bed, her breathing uneven. Her fingers brushed against the small black phone Alejandro had given her.
She needed out. She needed her pay and her freedom.
Slipping off her sheets, Jamila didn't bother changing into her uniform. She wore a simple, sleeveless white cotton nightgown that fell softly around her thick thighs—thin, lightweight, and hugging her natural curves in the dim light. Her dark curls were pinned up in a loose, hasty topknot, stray tendrils framing her neck.
She opened her door quietly, slipping through the shadows of the silent east wing. Her bare feet made no sound against the heavy Persian runners as she approached the grand double doors of Alejandro's private suite.
She knocked once—a soft, frantic tap.
Silence.
Desperate, she turned the brass handle. To her surprise, the heavy oak door yielded, gliding open into the dark, luxurious expanse of his bedroom.
The suite was lit only by the low amber glow of the marble fireplace. The room smelled intoxicatingly of rich amber, aged cedar, and clean rain. Alejandro stood near the floor-to-ceiling glass doors overlooking the moonlit gardens, a crystal glass of bourbon held loosely in his hand. He wore only dark linen trousers, his broad, bare chest and sharp abs bronze in the firelight.
He didn't turn around as the door clicked shut. She recognized her right away, caught in the familiar drift of soft jasmine and clean linen that always announced Jamila's presence.
"Jamila," he called her name.
Jamila swallowed hard, taking a tentative step into the room, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts. "Mr. Garcia. Please... I need to talk to you."
Alejandro turned slowly. His piercing green eyes swept over her, taking in her bare feet, her curls, and the way the thin white nightgown clung to the soft curve of her hips and the swell of her chest in the firelight. A dark, dangerous flare ignited deep within his gaze—unhurried, predatory, and suffocatingly hot.
He set his crystal glass down on the marble mantelpiece and took a slow, deliberate step toward her. "You shouldn't be wandering into my room looking like this."
"I…," Jamila began, her chin quivering as she held her ground, though her heart was hammering violently against her ribs. "You have to let me go, Mr. Alejandro. Please."
Alejandro stopped right in front of her. The sheer size of him swallowed her completely. Up close, the heat radiating off his bare torso was a physical wave, clean and magnetic. He didn't answer immediately. He looked down into her wide, dark eyes, watching the raw fear and fierce defiance battling on her face.
"Let you go?" he murmured, his voice dipping into a low, gravelly purr that sent a sharp tremor straight down her spine. "After everything I've done to keep you safe?"
"Your sister threatened my life." Jamila choked out, taking a small step closer to him, her hands instinctively rising to clasp together in front of her chest. "In the pantry today... Catalina told me if I cause one more scene, she'll make me vanish. Your brother Ferdinand comes into my room at night trying to bribe me, and you're using me like a shield. I am terrified, Mr. Alejandro. Just… please let me be."
Alejandro's expression darkened at the mention of Catalina, a cold muscle twitching in his jaw. But as his eyes settled back on Jamila's face, the anger faded into something far more volatile.
He raised a hand, his long, calloused fingers tracing the curve of her jawline. Jamila gasped softly, the unexpected warmth of his skin sending a wave of electricity straight through her core. Her knees felt dangerously weak, her breath hitching in her throat as his thumb gently brushed over her lower lip—slow, firm, and agonizingly intimate.
"Catalina won't touch a hair on your head," Alejandro whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from her ear. His warm breath brushed against her sensitive skin, making every fine hair on her arms stand up. "No one in this house touches what is mine."
"I am not yours," Jamila whispered back, her chest rising and falling rapidly against the bare wall of his chest.
Alejandro slid his hand past her cheek, his fingers reaching up to pull the elastic tie from her topknot.
Her thick, dark curls spilled free instantly, cascading around her shoulders in a wild halo. "I like it around you," Alejandro murmured softly, his hand lingering in her hair, his gaze dropping to her parted lips before rising back to her eyes. "Your scent. Your fire. The way you look at me like you want to burn this whole house to the ground."
The proximity was suffocating. Jamila stood frozen, trapped between the terrifying power of the Garcia name and the intoxicating, magnetic pull of the man towering over her.
Her skin burned everywhere his fingers touched. She could feel the hard, rapid beat of his heart echoing against her own chest, the air between them charged with a dangerous, unspoken hunger that threatened to consume them both.
"Please," Jamila begged softly, her voice barely a breath, her pride melting beneath the heat of his gaze. "Just let me leave."
Alejandro stared down at her for a long, breathless moment. For a fraction of a second, his grip in her hair tightened, his green eyes flashing with an unyielding, possessive darkness.
"I will give you your freedom," Alejandro said softly, his tone shifting into something smooth, masterfully calculating, and entirely unbreakable. "I will give you three times your annual salary in cash as a bonus too."
Jamila's eyes widened with a sudden spark of hope. "When?"
Alejandro's thumb gave a final, slow stroke across her bottom lip before he leaned back just an inch, his eyes locking onto hers with cold precision.
"On one condition," he murmured, his voice dropping into a lethal, silky thread. "Seduce my brother."
Jamila's eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock, her jaw dropping. "What?"
"Make Ferdinand fall hopelessly, completely in love with you," Alejandro continued smoothly, as if discussing a business contract. "Wrap him around your finger until he is blind to everything else in this world.
And when he is entirely dependent on you, when his heart belongs to you... break it. Dump him so thoroughly that he collapses under the weight of his own humiliation."
"With all due respect, are you insane?" Jamila gasped, taking a sharp step back, though Alejandro's hand in her hair kept her anchored close. "I thought you saved me from his clutches! He tried to force himself on me in his bedroom! And now you want me to go back to him and play the temptress? It isn't dignified! I won't lower myself to be your dirty weapon!"
Alejandro didn't flinch at her outburst. His face hardened back into a mask of cool marble, his green eyes cutting through her like glass.
"Then understand your reality, Jamila," Alejandro countered, his voice flat and unyielding. "You are stuck in this feud whether you like it or not. You think you can just stay neutral? The moment Ferdinand loses interest in hunting you, and the moment I lose interest in using you to spite him, you are of no use to anyone in this house. You get no money. You get thrown onto the street without a dime to your name, left to face my father's border guards alone."
Jamila felt a cold, suffocating dread settle into her stomach. "You wouldn't..."
"I would," Alejandro whispered, stepping back into her space until her body pressed flush against his bare chest again. "It's either my deal, or you end up with nothing."
Jamila stared up at him, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her mind reeled—trapped between the humiliation of seducing her attacker or the certainty of being thrown to the wolves.
Alejandro reached out again. His long, calloused fingers slowly traced the full contour of her lower lip, his thumb pressing lightly against the softness of her mouth. The contrast between his harsh ultimatum and the agonizing tenderness of his touch sent a sharp, intoxicating shockwave through her veins.
His eyes darkened, dropping down to her parted lips. The air between them evaporated.
In that fraction of a second, the cold, calculating strategist vanished, replaced by a raw, magnetic pull that drew him downward. He leaned in close, his heavy shadow swallowing her completely. His breath brushed warm against her mouth, so tantalizingly close that Jamila's eyes drifted shut, her chest rising sharply as every nerve ending screamed for his lips to touch hers.
His mouth hovered a hair's breadth from hers, the firelight catching the fierce hunger in his green eyes.
Then, just as the tension reached a boiling point, Alejandro caught himself.
He froze. His jaw twitched, a sudden look of sharp self-reprimand flashing across his dark features as he realized how dangerously close he had come to losing his own composure over a maid.
Alejandro abruptly pulled his hand back, stepping away from her as if her skin had burned him.
He turned his back to her, picking up his glass of bourbon from the mantel and taking a long, deliberate swallow. His voice returned—icy, distant, and stripped of all heat.
"Think about my offer, Jamila," he commanded, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace without looking at her. "You have until morning to decide. Now get out of my room."
Jamila stood frozen for a beat, her lips still tingling, her chest heaving, before she turned on her heel and scrambled out into the dark hallway, leaving Alejandro alone with the quiet fire and his unspoke desire.