CHAPTER 3: The Hidden Edge

The heavy mahogany doors of Mr. Santiago’s private study clicked shut behind us, sealing us inside a space that smelled of old books, expensive cigars, and quiet authority. The room was grand and intimidating, lined with shelves filled with leather-bound books and decorated with expensive artifacts, yet right now, it felt less like an office and more like a battlefield command center.

Mr. Sullivan Santiago walked to his large desk and sat down, his posture straight and imposing, while Mrs. Celestine Santiago motioned for me to take the single chair placed opposite them. My hands were clasped tightly in my lap, my heart still racing from the incident earlier—the poison, the accusation, the brutal grip around my neck. I sat on the edge of the seat, eyes lowered, waiting for them to speak.

Mrs. Santiago leaned forward slightly, her elegant features serious and sharp. She studied me for a moment before breaking the silence.

“You must be wondering,” she began, her voice calm but carrying a weight that made my skin prickle, “why, out of all the people I could have chosen, I picked you—an orphan girl sold by her own parents—to come here and take care of Nicholas.”

I lifted my head slightly, meeting her gaze. It was indeed the question that had been lingering in my mind since the very first day I arrived. I had thought it was simply because she saw me being humiliated and felt some twisted form of pity or found me easy to control. But after what happened today, I realized there was far more to it.

“There is a threat against Nicholas’s life,” she said plainly, no longer beating around the bush. “We have known for a long time that someone within this household wants him dead. The person responsible is close, watching every move, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.”

My breath hitched. A threat? Against that beast of a man? I thought of Nicholas—pale, still recovering, legs useless, and filled with so much rage and hatred. He was dangerous enough on his own, but now I learned there were people actively trying to kill him too. Being near him wasn’t just difficult; it was deadly.

“Everyone here has their own agenda,” Mr. Santiago added in his deep, commanding voice. “Servants, staff, distant relatives… everyone wants a piece of the Santiago fortune. We trust no one except Butler Johnny. He has been with us for decades, loyal to the bone. But he is old, and he cannot be everywhere at once. We needed fresh eyes. Someone unknown. Someone no one would suspect.”

And that someone is me, I thought bitterly. My life here wasn’t just hard work. It was a walk straight into hell disguised as a job offer.

“Forgive me for asking, Mrs. Santiago,” I said carefully, trying to keep my voice steady, “but… why me? I am just a girl. I don’t know how to fight, I don’t know how to protect anyone. If there are people who want Sir Nicholas dead, how am I supposed to keep him safe when I can barely even defend myself against his own temper?”

Mrs. Santiago suddenly smiled—a mysterious, knowing smile that sent a chill down my spine. She let out a soft, amused giggle that held no warmth at all.

“And do you really think,” she asked slowly, her eyes gleaming, “that I did not know about the fact that you have been secretly learning martial arts and self-defense since you were twelve years old? That you practiced in secret, far away from your parents’ eyes, because you knew you would need it one day?”

My eyes widened in pure shock. My blood ran cold.

It was true. Since I was a child, living with parents who treated me like dirt, I had known I had to protect myself somehow. I found a way to learn, practiced in hidden places, kept it a secret from everyone—even my adoptive parents never suspected a thing. I thought it was my one small secret advantage in this cruel world.

But she knew. She knew everything.

Mr. Santiago chuckled darkly, leaning back in his chair. “You should not look so surprised, child. When it comes to my wife, there is no such thing as a secret. She sees everything. She knows everything. We chose you precisely because you are not as weak or helpless as you pretend to be. You have the skills. You just need the reason to use them.”

I sat there stunned, unable to find words. Are they secret agents? Master manipulators? I didn’t know, and honestly, right now, I didn’t care. All I cared about was surviving, earning enough money to build a life where I belonged to no one but myself. If protecting Nicholas was the price I had to pay, then so be it. I was already in deep; there was no turning back now.

 

The next morning, I told myself to be ready for anything. But even then, nothing prepared me for the daily war I had to endure with Nicholas Santiago.

“Miss Cristine! Sir Nicholas is asking for you again!” Butler Johnny called out, his tone sympathetic as he passed me in the hallway.

I sighed heavily, wiping my hands on my apron. Asking for me was a polite way of putting it. In reality, every time he called for me, it was either to make me run errands back and forth until my legs ached, to yell at me for the smallest mistake, or—more often than not—to try and strangle me to death whenever he felt annoyed.

If I wasn’t so desperate for this salary, and if I didn’t know I was the only thing standing between him and a murderer, I would have strangled this psychotic CEO myself a long time ago.

I pushed open his door and walked in, standing tall despite my exhaustion. There he was, sitting against his pillows, looking like a fallen god—handsome, brooding, and absolutely infuriating.

“So,” I said bluntly, unable to hold back my sharp tongue anymore. “You calling me again just to admire my beauty? I know I’m stunning, but you really don’t have to drag me here every hour.”

He looked at me with a look of utter disbelief, mixed with that usual glare that screamed what on earth is wrong with you?

“Come here,” he commanded, voice low and dangerous.

I stood my ground. “I’m already here. What now? More yelling? More strangling? Just say it so I can get back to work.”

“Come closer,” he roared, veins popping on his forehead.

Damn this beast! I gritted my teeth and stepped right in front of his bed, leaning down slightly. “Fine! I’m close enough! What do you want, you psycho? A medal for being the worst boss in history?”

Before I could blink, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist and yanking me hard. I fell forward, landing right on top of him, my hands pressing against his chest to stop myself from crashing completely into him.

“Let go of me, you maniac!” I groaned, struggling against his grip.

“You really are nothing but a dimwit,” he muttered, staring at me with that maddening intensity. “Always running your mouth.”

“And you’re nothing but a brute!” I snapped back. “You pull me close just to insult me? What exactly goes on in that twisted brain of yours?”

Instead of answering, his hands moved to my shoulders, holding me firmly in place. Then, without warning—just as I expected—his fingers locked around my throat again, squeezing tight.

Demon! Absolute demon!

My air supply was cut off instantly. My eyes watered. I had had enough. I wasn’t the helpless little girl he thought I was. I grabbed one of his fingers and bent it backward sharply, making him groan in pain and loosen his grip out of reflex. But because I was leaning so close, the movement threw me off balance—and my lips landed directly onto his again.

It happened so fast.

I scrambled back immediately, trying to pull away, but he didn’t let me. Instead, he smirked, and pulled me even closer, holding me trapped against him. His dark eyes danced with mischief and madness.

“You—!” I was furious. I opened my mouth and bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Argh! You witch!” He cursed loudly, releasing me at last.

I scrambled off the bed, grabbed the nearest porcelain vase from the bedside table, and hurled it straight at him. It smashed against the wall right next to his head, shattering into pieces.

“Missed me, you crazy woman!” he shouted, wiping the blood from his lip.

“Next time I won’t!” I yelled back. “You maniac!”

“Get out! Get out of my room right now!” He screamed, throwing a heavy book at me.

I was obedient—for once. I turned around and marched toward the door. But before I stepped out, I grabbed another thick book from the shelf and threw it backward with perfect aim.

THUD!

It hit him right square on the nose.

“Bingo!” I laughed loudly, slamming the door shut behind me. His furious curses echoed through the wood, loud and clear.

Walking down the hallway, I was still giggling to myself, proud of my small victory. But as I reached the middle of the corridor, my laughter died down.

A strange prickle ran up my spine—the feeling of being watched.

I stopped in my tracks, slowing my steps. I looked left, then right. The hallway was empty, lined with portraits and tall windows. No one was there. No sound. No movement.

But the sensation didn’t go away. It was heavy, cold, and malicious—like invisible eyes burning holes into my back, following every single step I took.

Someone was watching me. Someone had seen everything—my fight with Nicholas, my laughter, my defiance.

And I had a very bad feeling that whoever it was… they were watching me not just out of curiosity, but because I had just become a very big problem in their plans.

I gripped the hem of my dress tight, my expression hardening.

Game on then. Because I’m not the only one with secrets in this house.