CHAPTER 5

I woke up to the warmth of sunlight spilling across my face, but it didn’t feel comforting. It felt...wrong. The bed beneath me was soft—too soft. The sheets smelled like fresh linen, a far cry from the damp, musty air of the cell I’d woken up in before. I blinked, staring at the high ceiling above me. It was ornate, with intricate moldings that looked out of place in my life.

I sat up slowly, taking in the room around me. Everything was pristine and polished: a large wardrobe, a vanity with gold detailing, and curtains that looked like they belonged in a palace. It was beautiful, yes, but sterile. Like a hotel room with no soul.

Panic rose in my chest as the memory of where I was—and why—came crashing back. Rafael Sanchez, "The Razor." The man who claimed to hold all the cards. My family’s lives were in his hands, and now, so was mine.

A soft knock on the door startled me. Before I could answer, it creaked open, and a young woman stepped inside. She carried a tray with food—toast, eggs, fruit—and a glass of orange juice. She set it down on a small table near the window and turned to leave without a word.

“Wait,” I said quickly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My voice cracked from disuse. “Please. I have questions. I don’t understand—”

The woman froze, her back to me. Her shoulders tensed like she wanted to answer but couldn’t. After a moment, she glanced at me over her shoulder, her eyes wide with something I recognized immediately: fear.

“I...I can’t,” she whispered before hurrying out of the room. The door clicked shut behind her, and I was alone again.

My appetite vanished. I stood, my legs shaky, and walked to the window. Pulling back the heavy curtains, I looked out to see high stone walls surrounding the estate. Beyond them, dense trees stretched as far as I could see. There were no roads, no signs of life outside the walls.

I wasn’t just trapped. I was isolated.

---

Later that day, I met him again. Rafael “The Razor” Sanchez. He strode into the room like he owned the world, and maybe he did. His tailored suit clung to his frame perfectly, and his sharp features only amplified his intimidating aura.

“Enjoying the accommodations?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with an edge.

I clenched my fists at my sides. “Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

He chuckled, low and mocking, as he walked past me and sat in a chair near the window. “I told you, sweetheart. You’re here to work. Your job is simple. Do what I ask, and your family stays safe. Step out of line...” He trailed off, giving me a pointed look that sent a chill down my spine.

“What kind of work?” I demanded, my voice firmer this time.

He leaned back, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. “Nothing you can’t handle. You’ll manage my schedule, prepare meals, make sure my space is clean. You’ll stay out of sight when I have guests and keep your mouth shut. Simple.”

“Why me?” I asked, my throat tightening. “You could’ve picked anyone. Why drag me into this?”

His lips curved into a smirk, but there was no warmth in it. “Because you have something I want,” he said simply.

“What does that mean?” I pressed, my heart pounding.

“You’ll figure it out soon enough,” he said, standing. “For now, just focus on staying in line.”

---

The days passed in a blur of fear and confusion. The staff avoided me like I was cursed, and I couldn’t blame them. The tension in the air was suffocating. Rafael—or Razor, as some of the staff called him—seemed to loom over everything, even when he wasn’t there.

One evening, as I was scrubbing down the counters in his kitchen, a woman entered. She was tall and willowy, with tired eyes and a quiet demeanor. I’d seen her around before, moving quickly from room to room.

“You’re Lysandra, right?” I asked, desperate for a connection, any kind of ally.

She hesitated before nodding. “Yes.”

“Can I ask you something?”

She glanced at the door, then back at me. “You shouldn’t talk too much. It’s safer that way.”

“I just...I don’t understand any of this,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “Why does he do this? Why does he...take people like this?”

Lysandra’s face softened slightly, but the fear never left her eyes. “Because he can,” she said quietly. “He has power, money, connections. People fear him, and that fear keeps him in control.”

“But why keep me here? Why not just threaten me from a distance?”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Because Razor doesn’t like loose ends. If he has you here, he knows you won’t run. He knows you’ll do what he says because you’re scared for your family.”

My stomach turned. “What happens if I...if I mess up?”

Lysandra’s eyes darted to the door again, and she lowered her voice. “Don’t. Just don’t. He doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

---

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about my family—my mother, frail and sick, and my little brother, who didn’t deserve any of this. I had to protect them, but I didn’t know how.

The next morning, while delivering coffee to Razor’s office, I overheard something that stopped me in my tracks.

“She’s the key,” a man’s voice said, muffled but clear enough. “Her family has it, and she doesn’t even know.”

“What about the boy?” Razor’s voice replied, calm but dangerous.

“The boy doesn’t matter. It’s the mother. She’s the one who had contact with him before...”

Their voices dropped lower, and I strained to hear more, but I couldn’t risk getting caught. I quickly placed the tray on his desk and left the room, my heart pounding.

What did they mean, “the key”? What did my mother have that Razor wanted?

I knew I couldn’t ask him directly, but I had to find out. For my family’s sake, I couldn’t stay in the dark any longer.

This wasn’t just about me being a servant. It was something bigger, something more dangerous. And I was caught right in the middle of it.