Guilt

A week passed by slowly and painfully, during which Sam took comfort in her phone. She had managed to get the new maid to read out the handsome man's name to her without revealing her inability to read.

Brian Brook That was his name.

Aside from his numerous gorgeous pictures, he had a ton of pictures and videos of beautiful women and men showing off their clothes.

It fascinated Sam to no end.

She rarely left her room then. She had all her meals in bed. Once in a while, she would go to the balcony at noon to let the sun touch her and also enjoy the green plants and the big blue swimming pool.

Sam was very familiar with the mansion now and didn't run the risk of getting lost.

She would return to her room after that and pick up her phone again.

* * * *

It had been a week since he fired the two maids and grounded Samantha. He hadn't seen her since then.

Initially, he had taken it that she was angry with him and wanted to show it by locking herself away in her room. He had grinned at that.

He believed she would come around eventually when she saw he didn't care how she felt, but she persisted.

He was getting uncomfortably concerned. Was she sick? Perhaps the maids meant more to her than he thought. But he told himself he didn't care.

Desmond was in the sitting room watching the news on the television. Baron had had it mounted a day after Sam was grounded. It was alarming that even that couldn't get her out.

Desmond felt his interest in the news falter.

"Did she step out today?"

He finally asked Baron, who was standing beside him.

"No."

"Is she alright?"

"Yes, her maid is tending to her. She is eating well and doesn't seem to be in any distress. In fact..."

"Did you see for yourself?" Desmond snapped quietly.

"No master, but this maid is mature and very professional, and I did give her a few warnings."

"That's not enough. Women have soft hearts. She could be telling you what Samantha has told her to tell you. Go there now and tell her to meet me in the dining room for dinner."

Baron left immediately. Why is he so worked up? He thought. Since childhood, Desmond cared very little about how his words and actions made people feel. Why the sudden change?

When he got to her door, he knocked. Sam opened the door a minute later. Seeing him, she frowned in hatred.

"The master wants you to have dinner with him."

"No, thanks." She deadpanned and shut the door in his face.

Baron blinked at the unexpected rude treatment he got.

"Did she just shut the door in my face?" He asked himself.

He knocked on the door again, but she didn't open it. After knocking to no avail, he left furiously.

"How is she?"

Desmond asked immediately Baron came in with his eyes still on the screen.

Baron decided he would put duty before his emotions, so he willed himself to calm down.

"She seems fine. Just bags under bloodshot eyes."

When he looked at Desmond, he was glaring daggers at him.

"Do you have to see her in a pool of her blood to call it not fine?"

"She..."

"What do you think Pa would think if he saw her like that?! Do you know how randomly he visits? If your job is too difficult, there are several people out there who are more capable."

There were days like this when Desmond would be in a bad mood and take it out on Baron and any other unfortunate servant. Baron didn't bother.

"She isn't coming for dinner," he said.

Desmond's eyes narrowed.

"She said 'no, thanks' and shut the door in my face. She refused to open it again."

Desmond's jaw twitched with fury.

She dared to defy me. Desmond thought. There was nothing that made him angrier than being defied.

He suddenly got up and stormed upstairs. Baron couldn't help but fear for the girl's life.

* * * *

Sam was still seething from her encounter with the butler when she heard a loud bang on the door that almost made her jump out of her body.

That evil man is back. She thought. He could bang on the door as much as he wanted, but she wasn't going to answer it. He could as well just break it.

The banging persisted, though. Sam's patience was wearing thin. When she couldn't bear the noise anymore, she stormed to the door with a face red with anger. She was going to give the old man a piece of her mind.

She unlocked the door and flung it open, ready for a confrontation, but the sight in front of her poured ice water into her furnace. She felt a cold shiver rippling through her body over and over and over again.

Before she stood with Desmond. His eyes were blazing with fury. She had never seen anyone more intimidating.

Impulsively, she pushed the door shut, but before she could think of locking it, Desmond kicked the door open. She was lucky she wasn't in the way.

Desmond stepped inside, looking at her menacingly. Sam had never felt such malevolence. She began to move back on shaky legs.

Desmond reached her in two long strides. He grabbed her and rammed her against the closest wall, the closet. The rattling it made was too similar to the one that went through her spine.

He squeezed her jaw with his strong hand. Their faces were just an inch apart as her feet were hanging in the air. The only thing holding her was Desmond's body, crushing her against the wooden closet.

"Next time I tell you to do something, you do it." He sneered in her ear.

"Do you understand?"

Sam wanted to respond, but her throat felt stuffed.

"Do you understand?" He gritted, pressing her harder to the wall. "

"Yes, yes. I understand." Sam whimpered and tears streamed down her face.

Desmond moved away, letting go of her jaw. The moment her feet touched the ground, they gave out from panic.

"Meet me in the dining room in five minutes."

He walked out and left her cowering on the floor.

Mickey was right back then. Desmond was dangerous. She feared him now more than she did Fred or Diane.

When she realized she had a deadline, she got up and tidied up the fastest she could and dashed to the dining room.

Desmond had come straight to the dining room from Sam's room. He noticed how Baron stole glances at him.

He must think I am a monster, he thought. But that is what I am. He smirked and began to eat.

He was the edge that no one dared to cross. He set people straight every time they messed up. He wouldn't condone it. Then why did he feel so guilty?

Sam entered, entered in her usual outfit of shirt and shorts, with her gaze lowered, and hurried to her seat. She wasn't seated next to him this time, but rather two seats away.

Desmond watched as she picked a plate and began to load it with the closest meal. Vegetables. Sam doesn't do vegetables.

Desmond picked up his loaded plate, left his seat, and took the seat opposite hers.

Sam's gaze flicked to him for a split second as he settled down in front of her, then back to her plate.

She pierced the broccoli with her fork and slowly brought it towards her lips. He saw her hand tremble slightly. She parted her lips and put food in her mouth, chewing slowly. He could tell she was uncomfortable under his gaze.

Her hair was in a pony. Her lashes rested on her upper cheeks as she kept her gaze lowered. Her cheek and chin had red marks. That was where his hands were a few minutes ago.

Looking further down, he saw the dark lines that peeked from the neck hole of her shirt. His chest clenched in compassion.

Before he knew it, he was loading a different plate for her. He pulled hers away from her and passed her the one he loaded.

Sam looked up at him in puzzlement. He saw the bags under her eyes. He thought she hadn't been sleeping well. I don't care.

Sam pulled the food close to her and began to eat it slowly. That was the slowest he'd seen her eat since they met. It looked like she was being forced.

Desmond left his seat and stormed out.

He paced restlessly in his room. He had tortured people before. He was killed. None of which made him feel such guilt.

When he saw tears streaming down her face back in her room, he felt a pang in his heart. His anger had vanished like magic.

He heard the door open.

"Is there a problem, master?"

"I want you to find those girls and bring them back." He went straight to the point.

Baron had seen it coming.

"Since when did you start going back on your decisions?" Baron asked.

Desmond turned and glared at him.

"It shall be done," Baron said.

Desmond went to his bed and sat wearily.

"Pa wants to see us this weekend. I don't want any loopholes."

He gave his excuse.

When Desmond and Baron left, Sam started eating like she normally does—with her hands.

There was a maid there who kept glaring at her. Feeling eyes on her, Sam looked back at the maids. The maids all lowered their eyes, except for one maid who smirked at Sam impudently.

Sam's eyes narrowed in surprise.

"Can you please excuse me?" She said

The maids began to shuffle out. Sam continued to eat, but she could still feel her eyes on her. When she turned, the maid was still there.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"I heard you, but you weren't the one who placed me here. You are not my boss."

Sam looked the maid over. The maid was of average height and was fairly pretty.

Sam didn't have her time, so she ignored her and continued her meal. It was obvious the girl envied her, and that was flattering in itself.

As Sam headed back to her room after dinner, she heard some noise downstairs. She hurried to the parlor to spy on what was happening.

"Television!" She squeaked and ran downstairs.

She picked up the remote control on the table as the news was being read on television. She didn't like watching the news.

Sam knew how to use the remote. Because they were too lazy to get up and pick up the remote, Fred or Diane would interrupt whatever she was doing to come to change the channel, or increase or decrease the volume.

She knew all the cool channels by heart. She turned to one that was playing a movie and pulled her feet up to enjoy herself.

It was eight in the evening before Desmond left his room and headed downstairs to get some fresh air outside. Descending the stairs, he had a sound beyond the solemn music that was playing on television.

Sobbing! Sam was crying.

He hurried down the stairs but paused at the foot, not knowing what to do next.

Sam had her feet on the couch with her knees pulled up to her chin. Her face was buried in her palms as her body shook with sobs.

Desmond came close. He brought a hand forward to touch her shoulder but hesitated. He stuffed the hand back into his pocket and cleared his throat loudly.

Sam jumped off the seat, startled. When she looked at him, her face was drenched in tears.

"Why are you crying? He asked.

"Her... her dog died," she stuttered nervously.

"Whose dog?"

Sam nervously pointed at the television.

"Yoyo."

Seriously? Desmond has never felt more foolish.

He turned and went out.

About an hour later, he was back inside. The night had grown too cold.

The television was still on. As he walked by, he saw Sam sprawled on the couch. Her shirt rode up her stomach. Good thing she wore shorts.

He contemplated waking her up so she could go upstairs, but he didn't want to. He couldn't leave her on the couch either.

They were going to see his father the next day. He wanted her to look pampered.

Gently adjusting her, he scooped her in his arms and took her upstairs.

He entered her bedroom, placed her on the bed, and watched her sleep noiselessly for a minute before he turned off the light and left.