Chapter 9 WORKERS WITHIN HIS WALLS
I could feel the cinematic energy both mother and daughter exuded as the maids led me away.
Hatred.
Anger.
Jealousy.
And a grim look that could cut through into the depth of my heart.
I turned away with the maids, not sure I was prepared for the war these women could be carving against me within their devilish hearts.
Her words were true— the words of the daughter, yes, they were. The escape plan which I had thought to be too easy almost buried me in a field of shame and embarrassment.
I had been so clumsy that I hadn't taken note of the surveillance system stationed around the entire house.
I smiled to myself, not because I was happy with my doings, but I was admitting to my inner self how stupid I had been by totally ruling out the existence of tight surveillance with the absence of Rafael's men.
—
They left me back further into the mansion. Away from the front door, away from my door of escape. The last thing I could resort to was to fight my way through, but realizing the maids outnumbered me, I scrapped off that thought.
Keeping me under Rafael's roof was probably the number one duty they all had been tasked with which they will invariably follow without fault.
After all, that was their job— the reason Rafael had hired them or assigned them to tender all of my needs in his house.
The journey led me back to the room where I had received a royal baptism before dinner and without delay, the girls had started removing the dress I had on— again without letting me breathe a word of consent first.
It was indeed strange to me.
Having other people take off my clothes.
Despite the luxurious lifestyle I had fended for myself back in New York due to the success of my family's business, I have never for once hired a maid for myself.
All of these things I have done for myself, not just because I couldn't afford it, I just loved to do them for myself because I feel a lot more womanly when things are done by myself.
The sense of perfection I get when I indulge in my own duties without having to give multiple instructions to another human to get them done according to my taste.
The girls looked pitiful as they worked on my body and I myself felt a lot more uncomfortable than ever having multiple women touch me.
I was meant for a man— meant to be touched by a man and any form of physical touch in my naked body which has to be done by a woman only ends in a massage parlor with professionality that is not induced with physical intimacy.
I did a brief head count of the maids assigned to me and they all made up a total of six persons.
“What is your name?” I breathed my first words at the maid who had pulled the strap of my dress off my shoulder.
Everyone paused.
The sound of the dress dropping to the floor was loud as they all had gone silent in their respective stations the moment I spoke to one of them.
The maid who was already in charge of filling the bath tub with warm water squeezed the cap of the tap, shutting it close immediately, but a few drops of water escaped into the jacuzzi-like marble bowl.
The girl who was in charge of letting my hair loose also mounted to a stop. In fact, all of them seemed to have frozen in time at the sound of my voice.
All I did was ask a question— a question about her identity.
The tension in the room was mildly palpable and the awkwardness of the silence of their reaction towards me filled me through and I wondered if I had asked the wrong question or perhaps it was totally wrong on their accord to hear me speak words that were not orders to any of them.
I could feel the girl before me suddenly melting and her eyes dazzled with sparkling tears.
“Hey…” I tried to say in order to console her from whatever emotions she was battling with within herself.
What could be wrong in asking for her name?
Was I breaking a rule by asking and why had the other girls also stopped what they had been doing at the sound of my voice?
“Leah.” The girl finally responded, her eyes suddenly filled with what looked like hope.
I could see them vividly.
Glimmers of hope filled her young round eyes through and through.
I could hear the tremble in her voice, but she managed it so well I could have missed it.
I gave her a warm smile and she reciprocated this act, her tears gracefully falling off her cheeks like she had nurtured them for years just to make them spill in that moment.
She was indeed happy.
Really glad I could say.
I had just asked for her name and that had driven her through a rollercoaster of emotions.
“I almost could have forgotten my name as no one had bothered to ask what it was, but you have reminded me of my identity— you have given me a reason not to forget who I am by asking. Thank you, thank you for asking me who I am.” She cried.
As she said those words to me, they struck a chord within me, my heart tightening at her innocence and I began to wonder how long it had been for her to have almost forgotten her name.
How could someone continue living their life without almost any memory of the name they bore?
Or the right question to ask should have been…
How many years of her life had she been living within these walls?
Can someone be so ruthless enough to make another forget the name they were named at birth?
What really is this man made of?
Is Santiano Rafael Devereaux truly humane?