Evangeline

Chapter 5. Shake Him Off

The morning arrived with a cold, unrelenting clarity. Mia woke up before the sharp rap of Sheila's knuckles could even disturb her door. She dressed quickly in the stiff, scratchy gray uniform, her fingers trembling slightly as she tied her ink-black hair into a neat, secure ponytail. Standing before the small mirror in her quarters, she took a long, steadying breath. Her porcelain skin looked pale, and the dark circles beneath her bright blue eyes betrayed her sleeplessness, but she forced her lips into a soft, humble line. She had to survive. To survive, she had to be perfect, invisible, and completely compliant.

​Armed with her heavy plastic cleaning caddy, Mia navigated the lower corridors by memory, her eyes tracking the tiny, etched maid markers near the baseboards. Up the service stairs she went, her heart hammering a steady, anxious rhythm against her ribs as she reached the residential wing.

​She knew the order. She had memorized it like a lifeline.

​First was Master Blake's room. Fortunately, the room was empty, though it had once again become a disaster area of crumpled fast-food wrappers and discarded soda cans in less than twenty-four hours. Mia worked with swift, silent efficiency, picking up the trash, wiping down the sticky surfaces, and making the bed without a sound. Next was Master Luke's room, where she spent a grueling forty-five minutes scrubbing dried, rich sauces from the silver platters he had left on the counters.

​By the time she approached the third door on her list-Master Malachi's room-the morning sun was fully up, casting long, sharp shadows down the minimalist corridor.

​Mia paused outside the heavy mahogany door, her breath catching in her throat. She gripped the handle of her cleaning caddy so tightly her knuckles turned white. Remembering Sheila's instructions, she knocked softly once, waited a beat, and then used her master key to push the door open.

​She had hoped the room would be empty. It wasn't.

​Master Malachi Crowe was sitting at his dark, polished desk. His body was tense, his posture stiff and agitated as he stared at a laptop screen. His pointed, fox-like facial features looked incredibly sharp in the morning light, and his piercing green eyes immediately snapped toward the door the moment it clicked open.

​Mia's heart leaped into her throat, a wave of familiar panic washing over her. She immediately dropped her gaze to the floor, keeping her head low just as Sheila had taught her.

​"M-Master Malachi," Mia murmured, her voice soft, respectful, and trembling slightly. "I am here to perform the daily cleaning. I can return later if I am disturbing you."

​Malachi didn't answer right away. He slowly closed his laptop, the sharp snap echoing through the quiet room. He leaned back in his leather chair, his green eyes raking over her petite form, her neat uniform, and the dark hair framing her face.

​"No," Malachi said, his voice carrying a restless, bitter edge. "Do it now. I want it done."

​"Yes, Master Malachi."

​Mia stepped into the room, quietly closing the door behind her. She walked over to the far side of the room, pulled a microfiber cloth from her caddy, and began meticulously dusting the dark shelves, ensuring she didn't move a single one of his obscure trinkets even a fraction of an inch.

​For several minutes, the only sound in the room was the soft rustle of her cloth. But the silence didn't last. Malachi suddenly stood up from his desk, beginning to pace the room with frantic, uneven steps. He stopped near the window, looking out over the sprawling estate, his jaw clenching.

​"Look at this room," Malachi muttered suddenly, his voice thick with resentment.

​Mia kept her eyes firmly on the shelf she was dusting, her cloth moving in steady, gentle circles. She didn't say a word, remembering the rule: Do not speak unless spoken to.

​"I said look at it, girl," Malachi snapped, turning his face toward her.

​Mia flinched slightly, quickly lifting her head to look at the room, though she kept her eyes respectfully clear of his direct gaze. "It... it is a very fine room, Master Malachi."

​"A fine room?" Malachi let out a sharp, mocking laugh that held absolutely no humor. He walked over to the velvet armchair-the one that had been repeatedly slashed with a knife-and kicked the base of it. "It's half the size of August's quarters. Have you seen August's room yet, Mia? Of course you have. You clean it. It's a palace. It has the best view of the valley. And Richie's room... Richie gets the double-reinforced security suite with the custom safe. Even Dominic's room is larger, filled with silk and imported garbage."

​Mia swallowed hard, her heart pounding. She remained silent, dropping her gaze back to her work, carefully dusting a glass display case.

​"They always get the best of everything," Malachi continued, his voice rising as he paced closer to her, his green eyes burning with a deep, toxic envy. "August takes the lion's share because he's the leader. Richie controls the ledger, so he takes whatever he wants. Dominic just smiles his pretty blonde smile and the world drops into his lap. And what do I get? The scraps. The smaller room. The lower-level operations. It's not fair. I work just as hard as any of them. I deserve what they have."

​Mia felt a deep sense of dread pooling in her stomach. The sheer weight of his bitterness was suffocating. She wanted nothing more than to drop her cloth, grab her caddy, and run out of the room, but she forced herself to stand still, her humble nature keeping her grounded.

​"I am sorry you feel that way, Master Malachi," she whispered softly, her voice carrying a genuine, gentle empathy despite her terror.

​Malachi stopped pacing. He stood just a few feet away from her, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied her porcelain face. The envious rage in his expression suddenly shifted, melting into a dark, restless curiosity. He took a step closer, invading her personal space, his gaze sliding down her gray uniform.

​"Tell me something, Mia," Malachi said, his voice dropping to a low, intense hiss. "Has Dominic taken you yet?"

​Mia froze. The microfiber cloth slipped slightly in her hand. Her bright blue eyes snapped up to meet his green ones in sheer, unadulterated shock. The question felt like a physical slap, making her blood run entirely cold. Panic, sharp and biting, clawed at her throat.

​"I... I beg your pardon, Master Malachi?" she stammered, her face flushing a deep, embarrassed red.

​"You heard me," Malachi demanded, his features tightening as he stepped even closer, his breathing turning shallow. "Dominic. Has he forced you into his bed yet? Has he touched you? Don't lie to me. I know what he's like. He takes every new maid within the first forty-eight hours. He thinks because he has that perfect blonde hair and those blue eyes, that every woman belongs to him. Did he take you?"

​"No!" Mia said quickly, her voice rising in a desperate, frantic bid to clear the air. She shook her head violently, her hands trembling against her cleaning caddy. "No, Master Malachi. He hasn't... he hasn't touched me. Master August explicitly ordered him not to."

​The moment the word no left her lips, a visible wave of relief washed over Malachi's face. The harsh, rigid tension in his shoulders collapsed slightly, and a twisted, triumphant grin spread across his thin lips.

​"Good," Malachi breathed, a dark, manic gleam entering his eyes. "Good. August's word is the only thing that keeps Dominic's hands in his pockets. He hasn't had you."

​Mia let out a shaky breath, thinking the interrogation was over. She quickly turned back to the shelves, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold the dusting cloth. She just wanted to finish the room and escape.

​But Malachi wasn't done. He moved closer, standing right behind her shoulder. The air turned thick, smelling faintly of the sharp, bitter cologne he wore.

​"Can I have you?" he asked suddenly.

​The question was blunt, devoid of any of the seductive charm Dominic had used in the alleyway. It was raw, demanding, and deeply unsettling.

​Mia's entire body went rigid. Her breath hitched in her lungs. She stared at the wooden shelf in front of her, the world spinning slightly as a profound wave of terror and vulnerability washed over her. She thought about his brothers, about the absolute power they held over her life. She thought about August's threat of death. But every instinct of her pure, kind soul recoiled at the thought of what he was asking.

​She turned around slowly, pressing her lower back against the shelves, holding her cleaning cloth like a shield against her chest. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide, swimming with a mixture of fear and quiet, firm resolve.

​"Preferably... preferably no, Master Malachi," Mia murmured, her voice a delicate, trembling whisper. "I... I am just here to be a maid. To clean the house. Please."

​Malachi stared at her, his green eyes blinking in surprise. He didn't explode into a rage as she had feared. Instead, his jaw clenched, and he let out a low, frustrated hiss through his teeth. He took her rejection as it was, his inherent envy twisting the refusal into a different kind of obsession. He didn't want to force her- not because he possessed a shred of morality, but because he wanted her to want him more than he wanted to conquer her. He wanted to win against his brothers.

​"Preferably no," Malachi repeated, mocking her soft tone under his breath. He stepped back, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, his eyes locking onto her face with an intense, possessive glare. "Fine. You want to play the pure, innocent maid. I can wait. But listen to me very carefully, Mia."

​Mia nodded frantically, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Yes, Master Malachi?"

​"You must shake off Dominic," Malachi commanded, his voice turning incredibly sharp, leaving absolutely no room for argument. "He is going to come for you. The moment August turns his back, Dominic will try to corner you in the halls. He will use his words, his money, his face. But you have to refuse him. You have to push him away. Do you understand me?"

​"I... I don't want any trouble with Master Dominic," Mia whispered, her eyes brimming with tears.

​"I don't care what you want!" Malachi hissed, stepping forward again, his pointed finger thrust into the air between them. "I must be the first person to have you in this house. Not Dominic. Not Kane. Not any of them. If anyone is going to have the pretty, porcelain maid, it is going to be me. I will not let Dominic have another thing that I want. So you shake him off. You hold him out until you realize that I am the one you should give yourself to. Do you understand me, Mia? I must be first."

​"Yes, Master Malachi," Mia whispered, a tear finally escaping her eye and rolling down her pale cheek. She kept her head bowed, her entire body shaking with the profound, terrifying realization of her situation. She wasn't just a maid to these men; she was a prize, a token of a sick, twisted game of rivalry between brothers who possessed no concept of boundaries or mercy.

​"Get back to work," Malachi muttered, turning his back to her and walking back toward his desk. "Clean the floor. It's filthy."

​Mia didn't say another word. She dropped to her knees, her hands trembling violently as she pulled a bottle of wood cleaner and a fresh cloth from her caddy. Throughout the entire conversation, and for the next twenty minutes that followed, she kept her eyes glued to the hardwood planks, scrubbing with a fierce, desperate intensity. The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic friction of her cloth and the occasional, sharp tap of Malachi's fingers against his desk as he watched her every move.

​When she finally finished, her knees were aching and her hands were raw. She stood up, carefully packing her supplies back into the caddy.

​"I... I am finished, Master Malachi," Mia whispered, her voice tight. "Have a good day."

​Malachi didn't look up from his laptop screen, but his voice followed her as she walked toward the door. "Remember what I said, Mia. Shake him off. I'm watching you."

​Mia opened the door and practically fled into the corridor, closing the heavy mahogany wood behind her. She leaned her back against the white drywall of the hallway, drawing in huge, ragged gasps of air. Her hands were shaking so badly the plastic caddy rattled against her leg. She looked down at the floor, her mind spinning with a frantic, overwhelming panic. She still had Master Richie, Master Dominic, Master Kane, and Master August's rooms left to clean. And the day had only just begun.