OBSESSED HEART: Tame by Fate

The grand iron gates of Santiago Manor loomed high above me, its black metal bars polished to a shine, guarding a world of wealth and power I could only ever dream of. Beside me stood Mrs. Celestine Santiago—elegant, poised, and radiating an aura of authority that made even the air around her feel lighter and colder. She didn’t look a day over forty, her skin smooth, her posture straight, though I knew for a fact she was already in her fifties. To people like her, time seemed to bow down and wait. For people like me? Time was just another thing we didn’t own.

She turned her head slightly, her sharp eyes landing on me. “Let me make one thing clear, Cristine. You were brought here for one purpose only: take care of my son, Nicholas. Nothing else. Do not step out of line, do not ask questions, and do not overstep your place. Do you understand?”

I nodded quickly, fingers twisting the hem of my simple dress. “Yes, Ma’am. I understand.”

It was a miracle I was even here. Just two days ago, I was being dragged through the town square by my adoptive parents, screamed at, humiliated, and sold off like cattle to whoever would take me—all because they wanted extra money for their gambling debts. Mrs. Santiago had happened to pass by that day. She hadn’t looked at me with pity; she had looked at me like she had found exactly what she needed. She paid them a sum that could feed my old household for years, and took me away without a second thought. I didn’t know why she chose me, but I knew better than to question it. Survival was all I had left.

We walked through wide, marble-floored hallways until we stopped before a heavy double door made of dark mahogany. Mrs. Santiago pushed it open, and we stepped inside.

The room was vast, bright, and smelled faintly of lavender and expensive medicine. And there, lying in the center of the room on a massive bed with silk sheets, was Nicholas Santiago.

My breath caught in my throat.

He was beautiful—there was no other word for it. His hair was dark and soft-looking, spread across the pillow; his features were sharp and perfect, from his high cheekbones to his pointed nose, down to lips that looked soft, pink, and utterly kissable. His skin was pale, too pale, and his chest rose and fell in slow, steady rhythm. It had been almost a year since the accident that put him in a coma, everyone said. For twelve months, he had been lying here, motionless, unaware of the world around him.

“This is my son, Nicholas,” Mrs. Santiago said softly, walking over to sit on the edge of his bed. Her expression softened instantly, turning from cold and commanding into something warm and tender—motherly love, pure and unguarded. She brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. “He has been like this for a long time. Doctors say he may never wake up… but I refuse to believe that.”

She turned back to me, her eyes hardening again.

“Your duties are simple. Clean this room thoroughly every day. Wipe his arms and hands, keep him fresh and comfortable. Do not attempt to change his clothes or bathe him—Butler Johnny will handle those tasks. You are only here to watch over him, to make sure nothing is out of place, and to be here if anything happens. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She walked over to the tall glass windows and pulled back the heavy velvet curtains, letting golden sunlight flood into the room, illuminating every corner. The light fell over Nicholas’s face, making him look even more like a statue carved from marble—perfect, but lifeless.

“After you finish cleaning, you may go to your quarters. They are down the hall, second door to the left,” she said, leaning against the window frame, looking at me carefully. “I will pay you twenty-five thousand pesos a month. Is that enough for you?”

My eyes widened. Twenty-five thousand—more than enough to live comfortably, more than I had ever earned in my life. It was a fortune.

“It’s more than enough, Ma’am. Thank you.”

“Good. Do well, and you will be treated fairly. Disappoint me… and you will regret ever being born.”

With that warning, she turned and left, closing the door softly behind her.

Alone now, I let out a long breath and got to work. I swept the floors, wiped every surface, polished the furniture until it gleamed, and changed the curtains for fresh ones. Every time I passed the bed, my eyes drifted back to him. He really was too handsome to be lying here unconscious. It felt like such a waste—such a cruel twist of fate.

“You really are too handsome for this,” I whispered to myself, standing by his bedside, wiping his fingers gently with a soft cloth. “It’s such a pity. You look like you could have everything in the world… yet here you are, trapped in sleep. Poor you.”

I shook my head, smiling faintly. I didn’t notice when my feet carried me closer, or when I leaned down, drawn in by that peaceful, beautiful face. My mind went blank for just a second—a foolish, reckless second.

Before I knew what I was doing, my lips touched his.

Soft. Warm. Perfect.

It lasted barely a heartbeat, but it felt like an eternity. I froze, eyes flying wide open.

Damn you, Cristine! What have you done?

I pulled back quickly, heart hammering against my ribs, ready to scold myself a thousand times over. And then—

His eyes opened.

Dark, sharp, and burning with a terrifying intensity.

They locked straight onto mine. There was no confusion, no sleepiness. Only cold, lethal fury. A look that clearly screamed: I will kill you for this.

My blood ran cold. I wanted to scream, to run, to disappear into the floor. He’s awake. He’s actually awake.

Just then, the door burst open. Mrs. Santiago walked in, and in my panic and shock, my hand flew up—accidentally landing a sharp, loud slap right across Nicholas’s cheek.

Silence filled the room for one long, terrible second.

“Tine, I’ve brought some fresh linens—Nicholas?!” Mrs. Santiago dropped what she was holding, rushing toward the bed, her face white with shock and joy. Tears instantly spilled from her eyes. “My son… you’re awake! You’re finally awake!”

She threw her arms around him, holding him tight, crying and laughing all at once. I stood frozen beside the bed, mortified, wanting nothing more than to vanish. Watching her hold him, seeing the overwhelming love in her eyes, a sharp ache pierced my chest. I had never been held like that. I had never been loved like that. My own parents had sold me without a second thought.

I turned quietly, ready to slip out and give them privacy.

“Hey, you!”

The voice was deep, raspy from disuse, and filled with pure venom. I froze, turning back slowly. Nicholas was staring right at me, his eyes dark and angry. Mrs. Santiago looked between us, confused and worried.

“Where do you think you’re going, little dimwit?” he snapped.

Little dimwit? My jaw almost dropped. The hell?

“Out… to give you two some space,” I replied carefully.

“After what you did to me?” His voice rose, sharp and furious. “You think you can just kiss me, slap me, and walk away like nothing happened?”

“It was an accident!” I protested, my face burning. The kiss—my first kiss, by the way—and now a slap? This was the worst first day ever.

“Accident? Do I look like a fool to you?” He glowered, eyes narrowing. Wait—was he really that upset about a kiss? Is he… maybe he’s not into women? Oh my gosh… did I just offend him that way?

“Mom,” Nicholas turned to Mrs. Santiago, never taking his eyes off me, “who is this woman? And why is she still standing here?”

“She’s Cristine,” Mrs. Santiago said softly, wiping her tears. “The girl I hired to take care of you. She’s been very good, very obedient.”

“Fire her.”

The word hit me like a bucket of ice water.

Fire me? I haven’t even finished my first twenty-four hours!

“No,” Mrs. Santiago said firmly, surprising both of us. “She stays. She’s good at her work, and I trust her. You need someone to look after you, Nicholas, and she is staying.”

She motioned for me to leave. I didn’t wait. I practically ran out of the room, gasping for air once the door clicked shut behind me.

Saint when asleep, absolute beast when awake, I thought, shaking my head. I am in so much trouble.

I turned to walk away, still flustered and breathless—only to crash hard into someone standing right behind me.

I stumbled back, rubbing my forehead, ready to apologize. But when I looked up, my breath caught again.

Standing there was a tall, handsome young man with cold eyes and a smirk that sent shivers down my spine. He looked exactly like Nicholas—but sharper, crueler.

“Well, well,” he said, voice low and mocking. “So you’re the little maid who just woke up my brother… and slapped him? Interesting. Very interesting.”

My heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t just a bad day. This was the beginning of something far worse—and far more dangerous—than I ever imagined.