CHAPTER 4: Shadows and Snares

I kept walking, my pace steady and unhurried, a soft, meaningless hum slipping past my lips as if I had not a single care in the world. My eyes darted nowhere, my head turned at no sudden noise, and my posture remained relaxed—completely unaware, or so I wanted the watcher to believe. But beneath that calm surface, every nerve in my body was stretched tight as a wire. I knew they were there; I could feel the weight of their gaze heavy on my back, burning into me from some hidden corner of the hallway. Whoever was watching was clever, but I was cleverer. I would not let them know I had already sensed their presence. I stayed alert, memorizing every shadow, every door, every possible escape route, until I finally reached the safety of the kitchen.

Mrs. Santiago was there, standing by the marble counter with a plate of butter cookies in hand, nibbling on one casually as she stared out the window. She turned her head when she heard my footsteps, a knowing smile touching her lips.

“Ah, Cristine,” she greeted warmly. “How was Nicholas today? Still as… difficult as ever?”

I sighed, walking over to grab a glass of water to calm my frayed nerves. They knew. Of course they knew. They knew exactly how I handled their precious son—how I snapped back, how I fought fire with fire, how I didn’t let him walk all over me. I had expected anger or scolding when they first realized I wasn’t the obedient, silent maid they hired. Instead, I had gotten something far stranger: looks of pure approval and quiet satisfaction. It was as if they had been waiting for someone to finally stand up to their beast of a son.

“Demon, psycho, brute… the usual,” I replied bluntly, taking a sip. “Nothing changes with him. He wakes up just to make sure I suffer.”

Mrs. Santiago laughed, a rich, amused sound. “And yet, you are the only person in this entire manor who can handle him. The only one who doesn’t run away or cry. You are quite special, Cristine.” She winked, taking another bite of her cookie. “Don’t ever change how you treat him. It’s doing him more good than you know.”

Special my foot, I thought, rolling my eyes internally. I’m just the only one desperate enough for money to endure his madness.

Before I could reach for a cookie myself, the kitchen door swung open, and Butler Johnny walked in, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the news he was about to deliver. He looked at me with a mix of pity and resignation.

“Miss Cristine… Young Master Nicholas is calling for you again.”

He didn’t wait for my reply, just shook his head and left the room.

I groaned loudly, dropping my head back. That man! Does he ever get tired? Doesn’t he have anything better to do than pester me twenty-four-seven? If he wasn’t trapped in that bed, I swear I would have run away to the mountains by now.

Dragging my feet, I made my way back to his room, mentally preparing myself for whatever nonsense he had planned today. I pushed the door open and stepped inside—only to be met with a loud crash and a shower of thick, sticky white paint pouring directly over my head, drenching me from hair to toes instantly.

The room echoed with the sound of loud, unrestrained laughter.

Nicholas was sitting up in bed, holding an empty bucket, his head thrown back, laughing so hard he looked like he might fall over. Tears of mirth streamed down his face.

“You… you brute!” I screamed, wiping the paint from my eyes, feeling it drip down my face, my neck, and onto my uniform. I looked like a mess—white and sticky everywhere.

He wiped a tear from his eye, still wheezing with laughter. “Oh, this is the best view I’ve had all day! You look ridiculous, dimwit. Like a ghost that fell into a bucket of glue.”

“Is this funny to you?!” I fumed, shaking my fist at him. “Is making me look like a disaster your only source of happiness? You are truly sick in the head!”

“Very funny,” he teased, leaning back comfortably, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You’re always so high and mighty. It’s good to see you humbled for once.”

I didn’t answer. I just walked straight to the bookshelf, pulled out the thickest, heaviest hardbound book I could find, and without a second thought, hurled it straight at him.

THWACK!

It hit him right on the bridge of his nose—again.

“F*ck you, woman!” He howled in pain, clutching his face, his laughter turning instantly into a growl. “My nose! You are trying to kill me! You’ll be the death of me, I swear!”

I cackled, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction wash over me. “That is exactly what you get! Every day, Nicholas! Every single day you mess with me, expect this payback!”

I stormed out of his room, paint dripping everywhere, marching straight toward the kitchen where I knew Mr. and Mrs. Santiago were still having their afternoon tea.

Both of them froze when I entered. They stared at me as if they had seen a ghost—or something even stranger. Mr. Santiago lowered his teacup, his eyes widening in disbelief, while Mrs. Santiago covered her mouth to suppress a giggle. The few staff members passing by in the hallway couldn’t stop themselves from snickering or outright laughing at my appearance. I probably looked like a duck that had decided to take a mud bath in white slime.

“Cristine… what on earth happened to you?” Mr. Santiago asked, though I could see the amusement dancing in his stern eyes.

“Your psycho demon son happened,” I stated flatly, wiping paint from my cheek. “He thinks dumping paint on people is a noble hobby. I think he needs a psychiatrist more than a doctor.”

They both shook their heads, but the smiles on their faces were unmistakable. This was just how life worked in Santiago Manor. It was never quiet, never peaceful, and never without chaos. Nicholas and I were exactly like Tom and Jerry—chasing, fighting, hurting each other, but somehow… never truly separating.

I bid them goodbye and stormed off toward the direction of my quarters, desperate to wash this mess off my skin. I was walking fast through the wide corridor when I rounded a corner and bumped hard into a solid chest.

I stumbled back, looking up to see Ethan Santiago—Nicholas’s half-brother. Unlike Nicholas, who was sharp and explosive, Ethan was cold, calculating, and carried a smooth, dangerous charm that I trusted even less.

He looked me up and down, his lips curling into that usual mocking smirk. “What is wrong with you, girl? Why do you look like a duck covered in… whatever this is?”

I scoffed, stepping around him without hesitation. “Please. I am far too pretty to be a duck. I am a majestic swan who had a bad day. And step aside, please. You are not part of my job description, so I don’t have time for you.”

I didn’t wait for his reply, walking away swiftly. He could be the golden boy of the family all he wanted; I only cared about the one currently driving me insane.

Finally reaching my small room, I grabbed fresh clothes and was about to head to the shower when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, grimacing when I saw the name on the screen: The Beast.

“Come back here. Now. I need help sitting up for reflex therapy. Or do you want me to scream until the whole house comes running?”

I gritted my teeth. Reflex therapy my foot! You just want to bother me again. But I knew he was dramatic enough to actually scream, and I didn’t want another scene.

I marched back to his room, throwing the door open. “What now, you damn beast?!” I asked blankly, standing by the foot of his bed. “Can’t you even pretend to let me rest for five minutes?”

“You’re already this grumpy? And you call me difficult?” He raised an eyebrow, shifting his weight. “Come here. I need you to help me move my legs. They feel stiff.”

I walked closer, crossing my arms and leaning back against the frame of the large glass window behind his bed. It was dark outside now; the garden below was dimly lit by soft lamps, casting long shadows across the grass.

He reached out toward the light switch on the wall beside him, about to flood the room with brightness—when something outside caught my eye.

Two figures. Dark, crouched, moving silently through the garden bushes. They stopped right below this very window, their heads tilted up, eyes glowing with malicious intent as they stared directly into Nicholas’s room.

My heart stopped. Intruders.

Before he could flip the switch, I lunged forward and grabbed his hand, holding it tight to stop him. My eyes signaled frantically for him to be quiet, to stay still.

But Nicholas… being Nicholas… completely misunderstood.

He growled, his eyes flashing, and instantly wrapped his hands around my neck, squeezing tight. “You dare stop me?!” his expression seemed to say.

Fck this demon! I am literally saving your life and you want to kill me first?! Where is the justice in this world?!

My vision blurred for a second. Acting purely on instinct, I slapped my hand hard against his chin, making him groan and loosen his grip in shock. Before he could yell, I pressed my palm firmly over his mouth, holding his face still, and pointed sharply toward the dark window.

I signaled clearly: Pretend to be asleep. Do not move. Do not make a sound.

For the first time in history, Nicholas Santiago actually listened to me. He stilled instantly, his eyes widening as he finally understood the seriousness of the situation. He leaned back, closing his eyes, letting his body go limp as if he had just fallen asleep or passed out.

Seconds later, the glass door leading to the balcony slid open silently. Two masked men dressed in black slipped inside, each holding a long, sharp dagger that glinted dangerously in the faint moonlight.

I tensed, ready to launch myself at them, to use every bit of that secret martial arts training I had—

But then I smelled it.

A sweet, heavy, cloying scent drifting from their clothes, from their hands, filling the air instantly.

Drugs.

My head spun violently. My limbs turned to lead, heavy and useless. It was a potent knockout gas, strong enough to take down an elephant. I tried to lift my leg to kick the first man approaching the bed, tried to shout a warning, but my voice died in my throat. My knees buckled, and I slid slowly down to the cold floor, my vision swimming, turning black at the edges.

The two men stepped closer, daggers raised high, their eyes fixed on the unconscious man in the bed.

I lay helpless on the floor, my eyes rolling back, my strength completely drained. The last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me whole was the sharp blade descending… and the terrifying realization that we had walked right into a trap far deadlier than we ever imagined.