“Yes.”
“Where?”
He pointed at the chair.
Ma placed her hand on her chest. “Sir, I am just a maid. If I sit here, my ancestors will faint.”
Anthony almost smiled. “Sit.”
She slowly sat down like someone entering a dangerous contract.
Back straight. Eyes alert. Ready to run.
Anthony started eating.
Ma watched him, then looked at the food, then back at him.
“Sir… are you sure this food is not poisoned?”
He paused mid-bite. “Why would it be poisoned?”
Ma shrugged. “Because my life is moving too fast. Something must be wrong.”
Anthony chuckled quietly.
As they ate, something shifted.
The silence was not awkward anymore.
It was soft.
Comfortable.
Different.
Anthony looked at her again.
Really looked.
Her expressive eyes. Her lively face. The way she could not stay quiet even when she tried.
“Ma.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Talk.”
She blinked. “You want me to talk?”
“Yes.”
Ma dropped her spoon dramatically. “Sir, you don’t know what you are asking for.”
“I do.”
“You will regret it.”
“I won’t.”
She leaned forward slowly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Anthony relaxed. “Continue.”
And just like that, Ma came alive again.
“Sir, let me tell you what happened on my street one time…”
She started acting, talking, gesturing, her voice filling the room again.
Anthony ate slowly, listening, watching.
Something about her presence made everything lighter.
Easier.
Alive.
He did not interrupt.
Did not stop her.
Did not want to.
Meanwhile, the maids were restless.
“She has been there too long.”
“What are they doing inside? Breakfast does not take this long.”
One maid whispered angrily, “I will go and check.”
Mama Grace appeared like a warning spirit. “Try it.”
The maids stopped immediately.
Mama Grace crossed her arms. “No one goes upstairs.”
They all kept quiet, but their minds were burning.
Ma finished one of her dramatic stories.
“And that is how the chicken nearly became a politician.”
Anthony laughed openly this time.
No hiding.
Ma froze, then smiled slowly.
“You like my stories.”
He did not deny it. “They’re interesting.”
She placed her hand on her chest proudly. “I am a full package.”
He looked at her quietly.
Something deeper in his gaze now.
Not just amusement.
Not just curiosity.
Something warmer.
Stronger.
Dangerous.
Ma stood up quickly. “I should go and work.”
Anthony did not stop her, but his eyes followed her—careful, thoughtful.
As she reached the door, she paused, turned slightly, and looked at him.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Why me?”
He held her gaze.
“For now, I don’t know.”
A small pause.
Then he added quietly, “But I will find out.”
Ma stepped out of the room slowly, her heart beating faster than normal.
“This work is not normal,” she whispered to herself.
Inside the room, Anthony leaned back, thinking.
For the first time in years, his mind was not heavy, his chest was not tight, and for the first time, he was looking forward to night.
Because he knew if she was there, sleep would come.
But what neither of them knew was this:
It was not just sleep that was coming.
It was love.
Deep, intense, complicated, and very, very dangerous.
From that morning, nothing in the mansion was normal again.
Not the silence.
Not the routine.
And definitely not Anthony Olamide.
Before, Anthony used to dread the night.
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