Chapter 7: Stay save
826 Words
Isabella’s POV
I bent over, scrubbing hard at the tiled step beneath me. My palms ached from gripping the stiff-bristled brush, and my knees were beginning to go numb on the cold floor.
“Hurry up,” Mira whispered, glancing over her shoulder toward the upper floors. “The Castellanos should be awake by now. They’ll be coming down any minute.”
“Okay,” I said softly, keeping my head down.
But inside, a small wave of irritation swelled.
It’s not like we’re being slow on purpose.
The gallery hall alone took forever, and now the staircase? For just two people?
We had woken before sunrise, hands moving almost the moment our eyes opened. Yet still, time seemed to sprint ahead of us.
The main gallery hall had been massive—polished walls, golden chandeliers, and floors that seemed to stretch endlessly. Now here we were, crouched on the grand staircase, each step wide, long, and tiled to perfection.
I scrubbed a little harder, watching suds bubble up under my brush. Mira was already a few steps ahead, wringing her mop into the bucket after finishing her portion.
Our routine was simple: scrub, rinse, mop. Again and again.
And we were still far from done.
I moved to the next tile, biting the inside of my cheek as my brush scraped loudly across the surface.
This place is beautiful, sure… but it demands too much from people it considers invisible.
Still, I kept going.
Because in the Castellano mansion, invisibility was better than being noticed.
* *
* *
The last tile gleamed beneath my mop as I wrung out the cloth one final time. Mira and I exchanged a look—tired, drained, but relieved.
“It’s done,” she sighed, straightening her back and rolling her stiff shoulders.
I sat back on my heels, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. My arms ached from scrubbing, and my knees throbbed with every slight movement.
We had barely caught our breath when a sudden flurry of soft, hurried footsteps echoed from above.
Both of us looked up.
At the top of the grand staircase, a small figure appeared—a little girl, no older than five or six, dressed in a frilly pink dress. Her soft curls bounced as she ran, arms outstretched like she was pretending to fly.
“Wait Miss Sofia—!” Mira’s voice came out in a sharp whisper. She sounded alarmed.
But the girl didn’t stop.
She giggled, the sound light and innocent, her feet tapping against the freshly scrubbed tiles as she darted down the stairs.
And then—
Her foot slid.
Her arms flailed as her small body tilted forward. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she lost balance and tumbled down the last few steps.
I froze.
She landed with a painful thud, her small frame motionless for a heartbeat too long.
Before I could move, a voice cracked through the silence—deep, cold, commanding.
“Sofia!”
I turned instinctively.
A tall man strode into view, fast, sharp, and terrifyingly focused. His steps were powerful, purposeful.
GODFATHER!! I muttered under my breath
Even without anyone saying his name, I knew it had to be him. I had seen him at the coronation.
The energy in the air shifted. It felt colder. Tighter.
He reached the girl in seconds and dropped to his knees, scooping her into his arms with surprising gentleness. She whimpered something softly, clutching onto him.
His jaw clenched as his dark eyes scanned her for injuries.
Something about the way he held her—careful, yet possessive—made me pause.
Was she… his daughter?
I didn’t know why that thought crossed my mind, or why it held me in place longer than it should have. I just… wondered. Who was she? And more importantly, who was her mother?
But the thought faded as quickly as it came when his voice came—low and sharp.
“Get the butler,” he ordered.
His voice wasn’t loud. But it didn’t need to be.
It cut through the air like a blade.
Mira stood stiff beside me as stone. I didn’t dare move.
He didn’t even glance in our direction as he purely concentrated on the little girl.
No one moved at first, but then I heard footsteps rushing behind.
“G-Godfather,” he greeted respectfully, bowing his head slightly.
“Who was assigned to clean this staircase?” He asked, his voice like ice.
The butler didn’t hesitate. He turned toward us—toward Mira and me—and raised his hand, pointing.
My heart lurched.
Damien’s gaze followed the butler's gesture, and for the first time, his eyes landed on us.
Sharp. Dark. Unreadable.
He carried the little girl in his arms and rose slowly, like a storm about to break.
His eyes didn’t leave us.
And then, he took a step toward us.
- Writer
