The sheets were still warm when Ferdinand Garcia caught the maid from behind, his hands sliding firm against her waist. He didn't wait for permission, planting a trail of feverish kisses along the curve of her neck until she gave in with a low, helpless moan. In one fluid motion, she was off her feet, legs locked around his hips as he carried her to the bed.
He moved with the practiced ease of a man who owned everything he touched. His hands disappeared beneath her uniform, traveling up her thighs to squeeze her hips as he dragged her panties down and tossed the hot pink silk blindly across the room. He flipped her back onto the mattress, hiking her dress up to expose her to the cool air of the bedroom. She gasped his name, her lip caught between her teeth as he leaned in, but the fantasy shattered before it could peak.
The door hit the wall with a sharp bang. Catalina Garcia stood in the threshold, arms crossed, her silhouette sharp with disapproval.
"¡Joder!" Ferdinand snapped, bolting upright and shoving a hand through his messy hair. The maid scrambled to her feet, desperate to hide her nakedness behind the half-folded linens.
"Leave us!" Catalina's voice was a whip crack. The girl didn't need to be told twice; she snatched her underwear from the floor and bolted for the hallway, head bowed in shame.
"¡Stupido! Come back and close the door!" Catalina barked after her. The girl scurried back to click the latch shut, leaving the siblings in a heavy, suffocating silence.
Ferdinand didn't bother with an apology. He stalked toward his walk-in closet with Catalina on his heels.
"Ferdinand, this has got to stop. You can't keep fucking every maid in this mansion. You have a reputation to keep. You're a Garcia, for crying out loud!"
"Who I enter with my dick is none of your business, Catalina." He yanked a casual shirt from a hanger, peeling off his pajama top and giving her a brief look at his athletic frame before pulling the fresh cotton over his head.
"It's my business if you insist on dragging the family name through the dirt. How are we supposed to command respect when you've slept with three-quarters of the staff? And have you completely forgotten about Carmille?"
Ferdinand's eyes darkened. Catalina was the only person in this house—aside from the help—who knew he was a traitor to his own engagement.
The Monte Cristos weren't just a family; they were a titan power, and his father was obsessed with the merger. To the elder Garcia, this marriage wasn't about love; it was the only way to tether his rebellious son to the empire and force him to be useful.
"I'm going to be looking at that woman's face every day for the next sixty years of my life. That's a prison sentence, Catalina. Don't expect me to stop having fun while I'm still a free man."
As he moved to brush past her, Catalina caught his hand, her expression softening into a desperate plea. "What Papa wants isn't easy, I know that. Fuck whoever you want to blow off steam, baby brother, but be smart. Do it outside these walls where you won't look like a fool in front of your own family. Just stay away from the maids, Ferdinand. No more servants. Do you hear me?"
He looked down into her eyes, seeing the genuine fear she held for him. He knew she would bury his secrets if he gave her even an inch of cooperation. Towering over her, he pulled her into a brief, mocking hug and stroked her hair.
"I'll remember to lock the door next time."
He patted her head and walked out, leaving her alone in the wreckage of the room, staring at the invisible pit she knew her brother was about to fall into.
…
Ferdinand strolled into the sprawling kitchen, his eyes immediately scanning the line of women in their black-and-white uniforms. He'd had five of them already. He was bored.
Then he saw her.
She was new—probably a transfer from the stables or the outer grounds. She wasn't like the others. When she turned to look at him, her large, brown eyes didn't immediately drop to the floor. Her dark skin was flawless, framed by a wild halo of thick, bouncy curls, and her lips were set in a natural, defiant pout. Her uniform seemed shorter than the rest, flaring out as she moved.
She was, without question, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in this house. He decided in a heartbeat that she would be in his bed by nightfall.
"You over there."
He walked toward her, closing the distance until he was a breath away, towering over her. She finally lowered her head, remembering her training, but the energy coming off her was electric.
"What's your name? I haven't seen you before." He reached out, twirling a dark lock of her hair around his finger.
"My name is Jamila, sir. I'm new." Her voice carried a thick, melodic lilt.
"Are you American?"
"I'm from Johannesburg, sir. South Africa."
"That's a long way from home just to find me." He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face upward. Her eyes twinkled with a strange, unreadable spark that made his pulse skip.
As she took a breath, her chest brushed against his, and the contact hit him like a physical blow. It was a visceral, immediate reaction—one that shouldn't have happened so soon after the maid in his bedroom.
He didn't want to wait for the sun to go down. He needed her now.
"Have the other girls show you where my room is," Ferdinand commanded, his voice dropping an octave. "And bring me my breakfast yourself."
She nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."