Chapter 2: A Deal with the Devil

Her words cracked through the room like a whip.

Even the butler flinched. You could’ve heard a pin drop as Clarice was dragged forward, her bravado gone in a flash.

Clarice was dragged away after forty lashes. At first, her screams echoed down the halls, but they faded until she could barely make a sound. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could block it out.

No one looked away. Some of the younger maids started crying. I clenched my fists, heart pounding. Justice here was as swift as it was brutal. My own fear sat heavy in my chest.

After making an example of her, Mrs. Whitaker glared at us all:

“If I catch any of you trying to lead the young master astray again, you’ll be out on the street!”

She didn’t need to raise her voice. The threat was clear as day. One wrong move, and you’d be packing your bags before sunrise.

The young master was a spoiled playboy who couldn’t behave for more than a few days at a time.

He strutted around with a cocky grin, tossing money at problems and never taking anything seriously. The staff whispered about his escapades, but no one dared say a word to his face. I rolled my eyes behind his back more than once.

Maybe because all the prettier maids had been replaced, even I—a plain, ordinary cleaning maid—started catching his eye now and then. Go figure.

It wasn’t that I’d suddenly become beautiful overnight. It was just that the pool had shrunk, and I was the last one left standing. His gaze lingered a little too long. I learned to keep my distance.

He’s the heir, I’m the help; in this strictly hierarchical household, I couldn’t refuse him forever. But that didn’t mean I was going to make it easy for him. Not a chance.

It was like living in a pressure cooker. The unspoken rules pressing in on me. Every day, I felt the weight of invisible eyes, the tension never letting up.

If things kept going this way, I’d end up just like Clarice.

The thought sent a chill down my spine. I wasn’t about to let my life get written by someone else’s script.

That night, I took my chance and went to see Mrs. Whitaker. Under her astonished gaze, I recited the passages the young master was supposed to have studied these past few months.

I stood in the doorway, nerves jangling. Was I really doing this? But I kept my voice steady. I rattled off dates, formulas, and even a few lines of Shakespeare. Just to prove I wasn’t bluffing.

“Ma’am, before I was hired, my family was full of teachers. We only fell on hard times later…”

I let my accent thicken just a bit, playing up the part. “My daddy used to say, ‘If you can read, you can rule the world.’ We lost almost everything, but I never forgot that.”

I put on my best act, wiping my eyes with my sleeve, and pleaded:

“While cleaning outside the young master’s study, I couldn’t help overhearing the tutor’s lectures. I just used the memorization tricks my older brother taught me.”

I sniffled for effect, glancing down at my shoes. “It just kind of stuck. Guess I’m a quick study.” I hoped she’d buy it.

“I never expected it to work so well. Please, ma’am, give me a chance. Let me use my brother’s methods to supervise the young master’s studies—I guarantee he’ll improve fast!”

I pressed my palms together, almost like I was praying. “If you just let me try, I promise I’ll give it everything I’ve got.”

“At the very least, let him surpass me!”

I let the words hang, hoping the ambition would sound contagious.

Mrs. Whitaker was overjoyed, hurriedly helped me up, and said with relief:

“You’re a good girl. From now on, you’re the young master’s only study companion in this house. You get first pick of the monthly pay. Don’t worry about anything else—just make sure the young master studies well. That’s more important than anything.”

Her grip was surprisingly warm. For a moment, I saw something almost like hope flicker in her eyes. She gave me a nod that felt like a benediction.

Her word was law in the Whitaker home.

When she spoke, the walls themselves seemed to listen. The staff scrambled to obey. No one dared cross her.

Returning to the east wing, I was full of confidence.

I walked with my chin up, rehearsing lesson plans in my head. Maybe, just maybe, this was my shot to turn things around—for both of us.

I pushed open the door and found the place silent. The young master, Graham Whitaker, was lying alone under the maple tree, shirt untucked, hair tousled—dark hair, crisp white shirt, looking even more handsome and untouchable.

The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, dappling his face with gold. He looked like he belonged in a Ralph Lauren ad, all effortless charm and careless grace.

I had to admit, Graham was good-looking enough to stop traffic.

Even covered in grass stains and scowling at the world, he had that movie-star thing going for him. It was almost unfair.

Otherwise, why would Clarice and the other maids be so eager to sneak into his room?

I mean, come on. If he’d been a troll, the servants’ quarters would’ve been a lot less dramatic. Things would’ve been so much simpler.

Seeing me walk in calmly, he narrowed his eyes and smirked:

“What, the little stray cat finally came back for food?”

His voice was low and teasing, like he was daring me to snap back. I just rolled my eyes, refusing to play along.

I answered firmly:

“What are you saying, young master? Annie doesn’t get it.”

I kept my tone light, but my back was straight. No way was I letting him get under my skin.

He came forward, put his arm around my waist, gently tapped my nose, and said indulgently:

“Annie, it’s fine if you don’t get what I say, as long as you get what I mean.”

His breath tickled my cheek, and I resisted the urge to shove him away. He was used to getting whatever he wanted, but not from me.

With that, he tried to pull me toward the couch.

This damned playboy!

I dug my heels in, refusing to budge. Not today, Romeo, I thought. I’d seen enough soap operas to know how this scene usually played out.

Looking at Graham’s slightly upturned, mischievous eyes, full of self-assured pride, I smiled calmly:

“Young master, don’t be in such a hurry. Look behind me—who’s there?”