Chapter 6: The She Devils Citadel
Sitting in the luxury sedan, Ali watched the world zoom by, sensing the familiar presence of the maid from the other day—though how he could tell, he had no idea.
Beside him sat Carrisa, dark-haired and silent since he entered the car. Though he suspected the time she had invested in convincing him must have tired her out, he wasn't about to ask.
The maid must have doubled as a chauffeur, considering she was the one driving—or perhaps Carrisa had no other staff, which seemed more likely.
'Explains why she's been following me around; she must be a loner,' he thought silently.
Occasionally, he sneaked glances at Carrisa; either she didn't notice or didn't care. He was somewhat entranced by her beauty, but he tried to keep a poker face.
It wasn't long before they reached the mansion in a secluded part of the city. Honestly, it wasn't that far; it was just in a more remote area of the district.
They crossed through metal gates he didn't remember passing before. Then again, he had cut through the forest to get there. The mansion was a small behemoth, six floors high with a somewhat medieval feel, like the castle of a noble—or in this case, a princess.
The car drove all the way to large double doors that made up the entrance. Sculptures and decorations adorned the surroundings, making it more intimidating to Ali.
Opening the doors, he stepped out, followed by Carrisa. The car drove off soon after.
"Wait, my luggage!" he reached out as if to catch the car, which had already disappeared.
"Worry not; Amena will ensure that your luggage is delivered to your quarters without delay. I have also made additional arrangements for your comfort, so you may settle in without any inconvenience," Carrisa assured him with a tone of authority.
Walking to the door, it swung open before they reached it. Wondering if it was magical or automated, he followed Carrisa inside.
"The mansion is divided into six floors, excluding the basement, cellar, and dungeon. The interior is further divided into five wings the central wing, and the north, south, east, and west wings."
The interior dazzled him—a mix of modern-day architecture and Victorian-style decorations. Weapons covered eighty percent of the walls, alongside antiques, sculptures, lavish furniture, and a not-so-modest chandelier lighting up the massive room.
She walked up a flight of stairs, though he noticed an elevator. Wondering why they didn't take it, he considered she might be showing him around. So, he silently followed.
"I reside in the central wing, and you shall be accommodated here as well, in the master suite on the sixth floor. Will that be acceptable to you?"
"No, anywhere is fine."
"Very well. I am pleased to see that you are so agreeable to the arrangement."
Continuing the brief tour, they stopped on the fourth floor. He maintained his cool, trying his best not to act like a complete bumpkin.
They entered an extravagantly furnished room. Walking behind Carrisa, he took a seat opposite her.
"Now then, shall we continue our little discussion over tea, or would you prefer to postpone it until tomorrow? You have been rushing around the city today like a headless rat," she added with a slight, mocking smile.
Ali felt the urge to return a jab but refrained—he wasn't that familiar with this lady yet and honestly didn't have the energy.
"Yeah, all thanks to you."
"Can you truly fault me? A boy I really like has been rather elusive," Carrisa replied with a aloof yet happy smile.
His heart skipped a beat for an instant, but he quickly calmed himself, remembering not to lose his cool. He returned her smile with a frown.
Remembering to answer her question, he said, "I'm beat, so I think I'll hit the sack. Where am I supposed to sleep?"
"Amena," Carrisa called in a barely audible tone.
"Yes, mistress," the maid appeared through the door carrying a tea set. She laid it down on the table, standing silently awaiting her next orders.
"Show him to our quarters."
'Our.... quarters' he thought, convincing himself he had misheard or misunderstood.
"Understood, mistress." Turning to Ali, she requested, "Please follow me."
The maid left the room, and he followed, trailing her steps through the hallway until they reached an elevator. She didn't press any buttons, but the doors slid open, and they entered.
The doors opened again on the sixth floor. Leading him down the hall, they approached a large double door at the center of the mansion. The doors opened for them, revealing a well-furnished room, brightly lit and elegantly decorated.
However, it wasn't a bedroom. It looked more like a living room than anything. Walking further in, Ali followed Amena. He noticed more doors, but only two stood out, one on the right and one on the opposite side, both double doors.
Turning left, Amena stopped by the double doors. "This is your room, Master."
"Um, thank you, but can you not call me 'Master'? Try calling me Ali."
Bowing her head, she replied, "Understood. I shall endeavor to serve you better, Ali."
Pushing open the doors, she walked in, and he followed. Stepping three meters in, he glanced at Amena, understanding her intent, and continued. The room was vast by his standards—a large king-sized bed, chairs, tables, portraits, and more, all adding to the room's aesthetics.
The bedspread was a deep crimson, matching the velvet drapes hanging by the tall windows that overlooked the mansion grounds. lamps cast soft light across the room, highlighting the beautiful decor. Every detail screamed wealth and power.
Looking around, he noticed a familiar pattern. "Again with the weapons. Why does this mansion have so many weapon-type decorations?" he muttered.
"The mistress has a particular fondness for weapons, and each of these is an enchanted artifact. Considering the possibility of enemy attacks at any moment, this mansion is equipped with weapons in all corners, including the armory," explained Amena briefly.
Bowing again, she said, "I shall now depart. Good night."
As she left, the doors closed behind her, leaving Ali alone.
Thirty minutes later, tired and weary after a hectic day, he collapsed onto the soft bed.
His phone rang, displaying his mother's contact info. He ignored it, deciding not to answer, unsure of what she might ask him and what lies he could potentially weave. Closing his eyes, he let sleep take hold, leaving tomorrow's troubles for tomorrow.
Daybreak came surprisingly quickly with the sound of his alarm. Today was Monday, so he had to go to his new college and complete his pending registrations. Opening the double doors, hoping to find a bathroom, he found himself face-to-face with a young lady in a white towel.
Her damp hair clung to her body, the towel hugging her curves as she combed through her dark locks. She noticed him, and her normally aloof face went through several emotions—from indifference to realization, from realization to shock, and from shock to the obvious embarrassment of being seen in nothing but a towel first thing in the morning.
Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she quickly pulled the towel tighter around herself, her violet eyes wide.
He had just woken up, but tomorrow's troubles had already begun.