Who Do You Think I Am?

Who Do You Think I Am?
'ABOUT TWO HOURS LATER— MAGGIE’S POV'

Maggie moved through the expansive hallway leading to her room, each step a measured cadence of quiet confidence. The soft tap of her heels echoed gently against the tiled floor, harmonizing with the stately rhythm of the estate itself. Her posture was impeccable— chin high, shoulders poised— radiating the composed assurance of someone who belonged. As the Governor’s stepmother, she carried herself with the unspoken command of a woman accustomed to reverence, as though even the walls acknowledged her presence.

She wasn’t wearing anything too flashy, nothing loud or attention-seeking, yet what she wore screamed wealth. The fabric hugged her body perfectly, tailored to the last inch. A simple bracelet rested around her wrist, expensive but understated. Her hair was neatly styled, falling just right over her shoulders.

As she walked, she hummed softly to herself, a low tune that matched the steady rhythm of her heels. Her lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, but something close to satisfaction.

She continued down the hallway, nearing the quieter wing of the estate. Two maids were stationed a short distance ahead, house cleaners bent slightly as they worked on a corner behind one of the many statues that beautified the halls. One wiped carefully along the base of the sculpture while the other dusted higher up, both focused on making sure everything looked clean, tidy, and neat— as they always did.

The moment they noticed Maggie approaching, they immediately suspended what they were doing. Their hands dropped to their sides, and they straightened quickly. When Maggie reached them, both women bowed respectfully.

“Evening, ma’am,” they said in unison.

“Evening,” Maggie replied nonchalantly. She didn’t slow her pace. She didn’t look at them. She simply walked past, her heels clicking away as if they were invisible.

Once she had moved a few steps ahead and the sound of her heels softened with distance, one of the maids turned her head slightly toward the other.

“Isabella,” she whispered.

“Yes?” Isabella answered quietly, keeping her hands on the cloth she was using.

“I hate how she acts like she owns the place,” the maid muttered, her lips curling. “But we all know she’s just the stepmom to the Governor. That’s all.”

Isabella paused for a second, then smiled faintly. “Stop hating,” she said calmly. “Let’s continue with our cleaning.”

They resumed their work, hands moving again over stone and marble. But the first maid wasn’t done.

“Do you know,” she said in a lower voice, leaning closer, “they say she’s sleeping with her son. That’s what I heard. And that Mr. Governor only married his wife for the press.”

Isabella froze. The cloth slipped slightly in her hand as she stopped wiping the back of the statue. Her face hardened immediately.

“Don’t say that,” she cautioned sharply. “That can get you into real, serious trouble.”

The other maid blinked, surprised, then laughed softly. “What? Why are you acting weird?”

“I’m not acting weird,” Isabella replied, her tone flat. She returned to wiping the statue, her movements more careful now. “I just don’t want to get myself into a problem I can’t get out of. If you’re caught saying this, you could be charged to court for trying to spoil the Governor’s and his mom’s name. That’s a case you can’t win. Trust me.”

“I know,” the other maid said with a shrug. “It’s not like I was going to say it to their faces. I’m not that stupid.”

“Good,” Isabella responded almost immediately. “Then don’t let us talk about it at all.”

The other maid frowned slightly. “Why are you being so uptight?”

“I’m not uptight,” Isabella said, lowering her voice even more. “I’m just being clear. It’s a dangerous topic. I was cautioned by Madam herself— the First Lady— just a few days ago. She told me not to utter a single word about any rumored sexual relationship between the Governor and his mother to any soul, if I value my life.”

The other maid’s eyes widened.

“I saw the seriousness in her eyes when she told me that,” Isabella continued. “So I’m not joking with my life.”

“Wow,” the other maid whispered, the weight of the warning settling into her mind.

Without another word, they both returned fully to their cleaning, shifting into a completely different conversation, their earlier tone gone.

Maggie, meanwhile, was almost at the entrance of her room.

As she approached, her steps slowed.

Her eyes narrowed slightly when she noticed two SS agents stepping out of her room.

Curiosity flickered across her face.

The moment the agents saw her, their gazes dropped instantly. Their shoulders stiffened. They stopped walking and stood awkwardly in the hallway, right in front of her door.

Maggie halted.

Her eyebrow lifted slowly. “What were you doing in my room?” she asked coolly.

The two agents glanced at each other, nerves clear in their movements. One swallowed hard. Silence stretched between them before one finally spoke.

“We ca—me to deliver a message to you from the Gover—Governor,” he said, stumbling over his words.

Maggie’s expression darkened immediately.

“And did anyone call you in?” she asked sharply. “That’s my private space. You can’t just barge into it anyhow.”

Her eyes squeezed into a frown as she took a step closer. “Who do you think I am? A lowlife like you, that you could just barge into their rooms as you please?”