Chapter 17
1093 Words
Geraldine’s Point of View
I was lying flat on the wooden platform, my wrists and ankles bound tightly. The sting against the back of my legs continued, yet I kept my eyes shut and refused to make a sound.
“It’s been an hour. Aren’t you going to confess?” one of them taunted.
I didn’t answer. Honestly, it felt less like punishment and more like a foot massage.
“No response?” she growled.
Suddenly, a sharp smack landed on the back of my head. My eyes flew open.
“What the—!”
“Oh? Complaining now?” she sneered and hit me again.
I glared at her darkly, wishing my hands were free so I could land a punch straight to his face. “I told you, I’m innocent.”
A smirk twisted his lips as she leaned closer. “I know. Because I was the one who did all this.”
I frowned. “Then why? Do we look close to each other? No. So what’s your problem with me?”
He snapped, her hands wrapping around my neck. But the grip was weak. That was supposed to be strangling?
“I just hate you!”
“Same,” I shot back, widening my eyes at her defiantly.
“You’ve got no fear, do you!”
“None at all. Maybe you don’t know, but I’ve got a nickname—Justitia. Because justice can’t be for one side only. If you think your little games will break me, then you’ll see soon enough.”
“You b***h!” she spat, grabbing a baton and striking my legs.
I almost chuckled. If this was supposed to hurt, he was failing. My eyelids grew heavy, ready to drift into sleep, when she suddenly stopped. My brows knitted together.
“Why did you stop? Killjoy. Continue. I was about to nap.”
Her face twisted in confusion. “W-Why aren’t you feeling pain?”
I tilted my head innocently. “Hmm, not sure. Maybe it’s like in the old punishments—if you’re innocent, you don’t feel pain. Amazing, right? So keep going. My legs need the massage.”
Her face went pale. “Impossible!”
“If you were the one lying here, I bet you’d be screaming already,” I teased.
“You’re insane!” she barked, raising the baton as if to strike my head.
The door burst open. Everyone froze.
Mike stood there, her expression colder than steel, her eyes fixed on the maid.
“M-Master,” she stammered, “I was just… punishing her in your place—”
The sharp c***k of a slap silenced her. My mouth fell open in shock, my hand flying instinctively to my cheek as if to shield myself from the same blow. Oh no. Please don’t slap me, too. Not my beautiful face!
“Remove the cuffs,” Mike ordered, his voice firm.
The guards obeyed quickly, untying my hands and feet. I stayed perfectly still, trying to look fragile, hoping he wouldn’t lash out at me.
“Girlie.”
His tone was gentle, almost soft. My chest tightened. I had to act—pretend I was still in pain.
“M-Master, please believe me. I would never poison you. Don’t… don’t slap me,” I whispered.
“I won’t. Look at me.”
Tears welled in my eyes. I let my voice tremble, leaning into the role. “Master! What did I do? Why did you hit me?”
But his gaze was already fixed on the maid whose cheek was red from his earlier strike.
“Put her in the cell. I’ll deal with her later,” he commanded.
The maid’s eyes widened in horror. The guards dragged her away, along with the two who had sided with her.
“You’ll regret this! I didn’t do anything wrong!” they cried, but their protests fell on deaf ears.
“Girlie,” Mike said again.
I turned, startled when I realized he was lifting me into his arms. Like a princess. My hands instinctively clung to his neck. Don’t drop me, please!
“Ouch,” I winced, when his arm brushed against the sore spot on my leg.
He froze, guilt flashing across his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
I tightened my hold on him, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin near his neck. Relief washed over me. He was safe. That was all that mattered.
His steps were steady, his warmth radiating against me.
“Master… I didn’t do it,” I whispered.
“I know,” he replied softly. “Rest. You wanted to sleep earlier, didn’t you?”
My eyelids grew heavy. Slowly, I nodded and allowed myself to drift off against his shoulder.
---
Third Person’s Point of View
Mike felt her breathing steady, her weight relaxing against him. She was asleep, finally. He sighed, his chest loosening for the first time since the chaos began.
“Master, allow me,” his butler said quietly, stepping forward. “You’re not well enough to carry her.”
“No need.”
“Then at least let us take Miss Girlie to the maids’ quarters,” another suggested.
“Call my doctor,” Mike said firmly. “She’s staying in my room.”
Shock rippled through the room. The staff exchanged stunned glances, but none dared to question him.
---
Flashback
The truth had struck him earlier when his chef confessed.
“Master, I need to tell you something,” the chef had said after the soup incident.
“What is it?”
“Before the meal, Miss Girlie warned me. She said one of the maids seemed jealous and might do something to her. She asked me to keep an eye on the food, in case that maid tried to tamper with it.”
Mike’s jaw clenched. “And you’re saying…?”
“Yes. She suspected this would happen. She even mentioned the same maid might be the one who locked her in the dirty kitchen.”
His fists tightened, fury coursing through his veins. Without another word, he stormed to the punishment room.
---
Present
Now, looking down at the woman in his arms, fast asleep despite the chaos, Mike whispered to himself, “You really are strange, my naughty maid.”
He gently placed her on his bed, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“So mysterious,” he murmured, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “And I want to know you more.”
******
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