His Dirty Schemes

With a soft groan, "U-Ugh," Leonariz stirred, pushing herself upright in bed. A searing pain lanced through her lower back, a brutal testament to the days of relentless abuse she'd endured. The mansion's maids had subjected her to a merciless campaign of violence—slaps, punches, and kicks rained down upon her, regardless of whether she was actively doing anything. Their cruelty extended to starvation; they'd work her until exhaustion, then leave her to starve.

The torment intensified upon the return of the maid who'd been hospitalized. Her rage was unrestrained, culminating in a savage attack; she struck Leonariz on the head with a heavy pot, leaving a deep gash on her forehead, skillfully concealed beneath her hair.

It had been nearly two weeks since she'd last seen Psyke, and a week since she'd spoken with his butler, Sebastian. Confined to the mansion with only three maids as company, she was utterly isolated, defenseless against their escalating brutality.

Leonariz's inherent kindness was a double-edged sword. Her compassion prevented her from retaliating, from taking any action that might harm those she cared about, even in self-defense. The thought of fighting back, of risking a violent confrontation that could land her in the hospital alongside her tormentors, was simply unthinkable.

She'd chosen a path of silent endurance, relying on her Amazonian strength to withstand the physical pain. She placed her faith in Psyke's ultimate justice, confident that he would punish them accordingly. This was not mere maid-on-maid violence; she'd overheard their chilling plot to assassinate Psyke.

Their casual cruelty, their whispered conversations, even within her hearing, stemmed from a dangerous overconfidence. They mistakenly believed she couldn't understand their malevolent scheme. They were tragically wrong. Every word, every inflection, every detail of their conversations was indelibly etched in her memory.

As she attempted to walk towards the living room, her vision blurred, her body weakened by five days of starvation, causing her to almost stumble. Her extraordinary physical resilience, however, had its limits. The untreated wounds festered, the bruises throbbed with agonizing intensity, and the gnawing emptiness in her stomach sapped her strength, pushing her to the very precipice of collapse.

Her only desire was survival, to avoid incurring Psyke's wrath. She aimed to remain inconspicuous, to avoid causing any further trouble for her owner. But her body, battered and depleted, was rebelling against her silent endurance.

She reached the living room entrance only to be stopped by a wave of excruciating pain that caused her to clutch her head. Darkness encroached, a veil descending upon her vision, obscuring everything. Leaning against the hallway wall, she waited for the agonizing wave to pass, for her senses to return. It took a full ten minutes before the pain subsided and her vision cleared.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Leonariz cautiously glanced towards the living room entrance. A wave of shock washed over her as she saw the man seated on one of the long sofas.

He sat cross-legged, seemingly relaxed, holding what appeared to be a newspaper and sipping from a glass, likely containing coffee. His expression was a mask of impassivity; he wasn't wearing his usual attire.

Leonariz straightened, carefully maintaining a facade of composure, masking her pain. She walked towards the sofa, approaching the man's position. He immediately noticed her presence, his gaze lifting to meet hers.

Leonariz was meticulous in preventing him from observing the true extent of her injuries. She noticed Anastasia in the distance, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and apprehension, her lips slightly pursed.

"Eto Ty," he said as she drew closer. ("Oh, it's you.")

Leonariz, drawing a deep, controlled breath, executed the greeting she'd practiced repeatedly. She raised the corners of her lips, bowing her head and body in a gesture of respect. It was a bow, a form of greeting she remembered from her past, a technique she'd been taught long ago.

A soft chuckle from Psyke reached her ears, causing her to quickly straighten. Her eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected expression on his face.

He was laughing, his eyes radiating pure, unadulterated joy, devoid of any other emotion.

A wave of warmth, both unexpected and unfamiliar, surged through Leonariz's chest. She bit her lip, a strange sensation blooming in her stomach as she gazed at his face. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle with an almost ethereal beauty, his blonde hair shimmering like spun gold in the dim light. He was strikingly handsome, his genuine smile captivating.

But that radiant expression began to fade, replaced by a chilling coldness in his eyes as they locked onto hers.

Initially confused, Leonariz felt the cold marble floor beneath her feet and realized that Psyke had vanished from her immediate presence. She understood then what had happened.

Her body collapsed without warning, her muscles unresponsive, her vision blurring, fading into darkness. She lost consciousness in front of Psyke, who now exuded a palpable aura of dark, menacing power, his gaze fixed upon her unconscious form.

—

"Vse yeye telo bylo v sinyakakh. Krome togo, pokhozhe, ona ne yela uzhe neskol'ko dney. Veroyatno, poetomu ona upala na zemlyu. YA ochen' proshu vas pozvolit' yey poluchit' otdykh, neobkhodimyy yey dlya vosstanovleniya sil." ( "Her whole body was bruised. Besides, it seems she hasn't eaten for several days. Probably that's why she fell to the ground. I kindly ask you to allow her to rest, which is necessary for her recovery." )

The doctor's words, relayed to Psyke, were a stark assessment of Leonariz's condition. He'd personally summoned the doctor to his mansion to examine the Amazon. They were in the room he'd prepared for her, accompanied by the doctor and the three maids, their heads bowed, their anxiety palpable.

"Teper' ty mozhesh' uyti." Psyke's command to the doctor, who'd just completed bandaging Leonariz's wounds, was curt and dismissive. ( "Now, you can leave." )

The doctor bowed and promptly departed, leaving the three maids standing rigidly, their gazes fixed firmly on the floor, avoiding any eye contact with Psyke.

"Pogovorite, yesli vy tsenite svoyu zhizn'." Psyke's voice, low and menacing, brooked no defiance." ( "Talk if you value your lives." )

Edna, her forehead glistening with sweat, stammered a response, "Ser, eto vse yeye zasluga. My pytalis' pomeshat' yey prichinit' sebe vred, no ne smogli, potomu chto ona nam ugrozhala." ( "Sir, it's all her doing. We kept trying to prevent her from harming herself, but we couldn't because she was threatening us.")

Psyke's continued silence prompted Anastasia and Shelly to join in the desperate attempt to mitigate their culpability. Anastasia, her fingers nervously twisting behind her back, offered a carefully constructed lie, "My govorim pravdu, ser. K-kak my mogli tak postupit' s ney, yesli my dazhe ne nastol'ko sil'ny? My obychnaya gornichnaya i rabotayem na vas uzhe pochti pyat' let." ( "W-were telling the truth, sir. H-how could we do that to her when we're not even that strong? We're just a normal housemaid, and we've been working for you for almost five years now." )

Shelly, attempting a more confident, yet unconvincing tone, added, "Mozhet byt', ona nenavidit nakhodit'sya zdes', ser. YA t-dumayu, chto ona vosstayet protiv vas." ( "Maybe she hates being here, sir. I think she's rebelling against you.")

The three maids' hearts hammered against their ribs; their fear was palpable. They were acutely aware of Psyke's reputation for his unnerving ability to extract information, his skill in uncovering even the most carefully concealed truths. They were bracing themselves for the possibility of immediate execution, prepared to fight for their lives should he deem them worthy of death. However, his response was far from what they expected.

"Ponyatno, pokhozhe, ya byl s ney slishkom myagok. Etikh kandalov i tsepey yey bylo nedostatochno, chtoby vesti sebya khorosho, verno?." Psyke's words were chilling in their implication. ( "I see, it appears that I've been too mild with her. These shackles and chains weren't enough for her to behave, correct?" )

A collective gasp, "H-huh?" escaped the three maids' lips, their eyes widening in shock and disbelief.

Psyke raised a single eyebrow, his expression unreadable, his gaze piercing. "Pochemu? YA oshibayus'? Razve ty ne to khotel skazat'?" ( "Why? Am I mistaken? Didn't you want to say that? ")

Anastasia, her voice trembling slightly, shook her head, offering a desperate affirmation, "Net, ser, vy vse pravil'no ponyali.." ( "No sir, you got it right. ")

Psyke delivered his judgment with cold finality, "Otnyne ona budet ostavat'sya v svoyey novoy kletke; yey ne razreshayetsya pokidat' svoyu komnatu, osobenno v moye otsutstviye." ( "From now on, she will stay in her new cage; she is not permitted to leave her chamber, especially when I am not present. ") He reached for the shot glass that rested on the table beside Leonariz's bed.

His gaze shifted to the three maids, who remained transfixed upon him, their fear a palpable entity in the room.

"Ty mozhesh' pokonchit' s soboy seychas." His words were a dismissal, a death sentence delivered with chilling nonchalance. ( "You may take your life now.") He swiftly downed the contents of the shot glass.

Without uttering a single word, the three maids fled, their panicked retreat eliciting a low chuckle from Psyke. He turned his attention back to Leonariz, her body swathed in bandages, her unconscious form lying still upon the bed.

Sebastian, entering the room, his hands casually in his pockets, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes, addressed Psyke with a mixture of concern and incredulity. "I truly have no idea what's going through your head, boss. You were aware that it was their fault, correct? Why did you allow them to escape?"

Psyke, his gaze unwavering as it remained fixed upon Leonariz's unconscious face, replied with a hint of amusement in his voice, "Since it's enjoyable. Sebastian, you are aware of my penchant for manipulating any circumstance to my advantage. Funny, after hearing what I just said, they seem so relieved."

Sebastian, a smirk playing on his lips, leaned against the wall beside the door. "Pretty near to death, huh? It appears that you intend to use them as bait for our incoming foe."

A mischievous smile curved Psyke's lips as he turned to Sebastian, who mirrored his grin, his hands still remaining casually in his pockets. "You bet," Psyke replied, the shot glass in his hand shattering into a thousand pieces with a sharp, sudden crack.