Chapter Four
1491 Words
Maddie's Pov
Days blurred into weeks.
I learned quickly how to survive in this new life. It was different from what I had known before, but the truth remained the same—I was still a prisoner.
Yet, unlike before, I wasn’t treated with outright cruelty.
There were no punishments for speaking out of turn, no brutal hands dragging me by the hair if I moved too slowly. Instead, I was given clean clothes, warm meals, and a room so lavish it felt like something out of a dream.
But it was all an illusion.
No matter how soft the sheets were, they would never be mine. No matter how much kindness I was shown, I was still owned.
And I wasn’t the only one living like this.
The mansion was vast, filled with staff who moved quickly and silently, each of them careful to stay out of the way. It wasn’t just respect—it was fear.
That was how I first learned about others though of Leonardo Russo.
Damien’s son.
I had been in the kitchen one afternoon when I overheard the whispers.
“The devil’s child,” one of the maids muttered under her breath.
“He’s impossible,” another agreed. “Always throwing tantrums, talking back. He’s been through nineteen nannies in the last six months.”
“None of them lasted a week,” a third added. “Even with the insane salary they were promised.”
I listened quietly, pretending not to care.
Damien had a son.
A six-year-old boy.
And if the staff was to be believed, he was nothing short of a nightmare.
They said he was spoiled, insufferable, always causing trouble. That he had no discipline because Damien had no time for him, and his mother had died years ago.
They spoke of him as if he were a storm—something destructive, unpredictable.
But I didn’t understand.
Because I had already met Leonardo Russo.
And from what I had seen, he wasn’t nearly as terrible as they made him out to be.
---
It had happened on my second day in the mansion.
Overwhelmed by everything, I had wandered into the gardens in search of air, of something that felt real. The sun had been warm against my skin, the scent of fresh grass a sharp contrast to the cold luxury of the house.
That was when I saw him.
A boy sitting beneath a large oak tree, completely absorbed in a thick book.
He looked nothing like a child throwing tantrums.
He looked… alone.
I hadn’t meant to get his attention, but he must have sensed me because he suddenly looked up, his sharp gray eyes—Damien’s eyes—locking onto mine.
“What are you doing here?” His tone was cold, suspicious.
I hesitated.
He frowned. “You’re new.” It wasn’t a question.
I gave a small nod.
His gaze lingered on me for a moment before he turned back to his book.
“Then stay out of my way.”
I had wanted to leave, to obey, but something about the way he said it made me pause. He didn’t sound mean. Just… distant.
Leo didn’t look up again after his first dismissive comment. His small fingers turned the pages of his thick book, his posture rigid and guarded. It was clear he was waiting for me to leave.
I didn’t.
Instead, I let the silence stretch between us, listening to the soft rustling of the wind through the trees. The air smelled like fresh earth, the late afternoon sun casting golden streaks through the branches. It was peaceful.
And then, after nearly five full minutes, Leo exhaled sharply, snapping his book shut.
“What are you still doing here?”
I turned my head, meeting his gaze. His gray eyes were narrowed in suspicion, his lips pressed into a firm line.
“I like the fresh air,” I said simply.
His expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked more annoyed.
“There are about fifty other places you could be getting fresh air right now.”
I shrugged. “Maybe I like this spot.”
Leo studied me for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. I wondered if he was going to push further, if he was going to order me to leave outright.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he scoffed under his breath and opened his book again. “Whatever. Just don’t talk to me.”
I hid a small smile.
For a boy who was supposedly a terror, he sure didn’t know how to make people go away.
That first meeting ended like that—me sitting silently nearby, Leo ignoring me as best as he could.
It took days before he spoke to me again.
Most of the time, he kept to himself, nose buried in a book, expression unreadable. He never initiated conversation, and whenever I did, he would respond with one-word answers or, more often than not, a glare.
But I didn’t let it discourage me.
Instead, I made a game out of it.
Every day, I would come up with something new to say.
“You read more than anyone I’ve ever met.”
No response.
“That book looks way too thick for a six-year-old. Are you sure you’re not secretly eighty?”
A faint scoff.
“I bet I can balance a rock on your head without you noticing.”
A sharp glare. “Try it, and I’ll bury you in this garden.”
That was the first time I laughed around him.
---
It wasn’t easy after that.
Leo was smart. Too smart. And he wasn’t the type to trust easily.
Most of our encounters in the following days were filled with sharp remarks and skepticism on his part. He never spoke much at first, and when he did, it was only to remind me that he didn’t need me around.
But he never told me to leave, either.
So, I stayed.
Gradually, his cold demeanor thawed.
It was subtle at first—smaller glances, fewer insults, a quiet acceptance of my presence. Then, one day, he asked me a question.
“Are you stupid?”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
His eyes flicked to me, unimpressed. “You’re still here.”
“You never told me to leave.”
He stared for a moment before clicking his tongue in annoyance. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”
And just like that, an unspoken truce was formed.
“Do you know calculus?”
I had blinked at him, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah?”
He had frowned, deep in thought. Then he fliped his book, shoved it toward me, and pointed at an equation.
“Explain this.”
And that was how it started.
Leo never sought me out in front of others, but in private, he would bring his books, his equations, his puzzles, and challenge me with them.
I wasn’t sure when the banter started, but eventually, the sharp remarks turned playful, the silences more comfortable.
I wasn’t his nanny. I wasn’t even his friend.
But I was something.
And for a boy who had never let anyone in, that was enough.
---
“You’ll never get this one,” Leo said smugly, holding up his notebook.
I narrowed my eyes, snatching it from his hands. “We’ll see about that.”
I stared at the equation, my confidence fading instantly.
“…What the hell is this?”
Leo smirked. “Told you.”
I scowled, flipping the page. “You’re six. Why are you even doing this level of math?”
“Because I’m a genius.”
I rolled my eyes. “Humble much?”
Leo let out a short laugh, a rare sound that made something in my chest tighten.
I liked this. These moments where we weren’t prisoner and heir, where I wasn’t a slave and he wasn’t the untouchable son of a mafia boss.
He was just a kid.
And I… I wasn’t sure what I was.
Before I could dwell on it, the door creaked open.
Leo stiffened instantly.
I turned, only for my stomach to drop.
Damien.
He stood at the doorway, his sharp gaze flickering between me and Leo.
The air in the room shifted, heavy and cold.
Leo quickly grabbed his book, snapping it shut. He didn’t move closer to me, but the way his expression hardened told me everything.
This wasn’t something Damien was used to seeing.
Me. Leo. Together.
A strange tension filled the air.
Damien didn’t speak right away. He simply stood there, studying the scene before him.
Then, finally, his eyes
met mine.
“Come with me.” His voice was calm. Too calm.
Leo tensed beside me.
I swallowed hard, forcing my legs to move as I stood.
And as I followed Damien out of the room, I couldn’t shake the weight of Leo’s stare at my back.
- Writer
