Page 8 of Stolen By the Devil

I smiled softly, my heart swelling with a bit of hope. “Well, maybe it’s time someone did. Come, let’s get you something to eat.”

This time, they didn’t resist. I helped them sit at the table and asked gently, “What do you like to eat for breakfast?”

Liliana looked at me like I had asked the strangest question. She exchanged a glance with Marco before answering. “No one’s ever asked us that before,” she said quietly.

I felt a pang in my chest. These children, growing up in such a grand house, surrounded by wealth and a host of people to look after them, and yet no one had ever bothered to ask them their preferences. “Well, I’m asking now,” I replied, giving them both a warm smile. “Tell me. What are your favorite things to eat in the morning?”

Liliana hesitated, then said, “I like pancakes. With strawberries and whipped cream on top.”

Marco, still shy, nodded. “I like pancakes, too,” he said softly. “And sausage.”

I nodded and turned to the cook, who was standing in the doorway expectantly. “Could you please prepare pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream as well as some sausage for the children?”

The uniformed woman nodded curtly and retreated to the kitchen. As we waited, Liliana studied me again, her brown eyes curious this time rather than suspicious. “You’re pretty,” she said, her voice quiet. Then, with a tilt of her head, she added, “But why are you wearing dirty clothes? I saw the servants carrying lots of garment bags upstairs. Were they bringing you new, clean clothes to wear?”

I glanced down at my dress, realizing it was indeed extremely wrinkled and splotched with food stains from my shift the night before. I laughed softly. “Thank you for reminding me, Liliana. And yes, I suppose it would be nice to change into something fresh.”

Another servant arrived, carrying a tray with the children’s meals. They looked down hungrily at the fluffy golden pancakes, piled with sliced berries and mounds of whipped cream, and the sausages, still sizzling from the fryer. I helped them eat, passing them butter and syrup, and ensuring their water glasses remained filled from the pitcher. Both Liliana and Marco devoured their breakfast with a newfound excitement. Once they were finished, I leaned down with a grin. “Would you like to help me pick out something to wear today?”

Liliana’s eyes lit up with excitement, and even Marco seemed eager about the idea. They both nodded enthusiastically, so I led them upstairs to the room I supposed I could now call my own. The wardrobe was already filled with beautiful newdresses, skirts, and blouses in my sizes—all of them elegant and far more luxurious than anything I had ever owned.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” I said, pulling a few items off the hangers. Liliana and Marco dove in, rifling through the clothes, pulling out dresses, trying on my shoes, and even finding some makeup on the bathroom counter.

Soon, the room was filled with laughter as Liliana clumsily walked around in high heels that were far too big for her, and Marco tried to put lipstick on his sister’s nose instead of her lips. I found myself smiling—genuinely smiling—for the first time since I arrived. These children were hurt, yes, but beneath the cold exterior, they were just kids.

Once the fun of dress-up had died down, I let them help me pick out a simple knit dress, something soft and comfortable. Liliana beamed at me once I was dressed, clearly pleased with the choice.

“You like nice in blue,” she commented.

“Why, thank you,” I replied, curtsying like a maiden in a fairytale. “Now, how about you show me your rooms?” I asked.

They led me down the hallway to their bedrooms, both filled with toys, books, and beautiful furnishings. The rooms were immaculate, every toy perfectly placed, but I noticed that neither child seemed particularly attached to any of it. It was as though these rooms were filled with things they never really got to enjoy.

Next, they showed me their shared play space, which was just as grand and complete with desks and shelves full of books. I noticed a stack of lesson plans and workbooks placed on top of each of the two desks. “Do you go to school?” I asked, knowing that Marco should have been in preschool and Liliana in kindergarten.

Liliana shook her head. “We have a private tutor,” she said. “She comes after lunch.”

A tutor. That should have been a good thing, but something in the way Liliana said it made me pause. Still, I didn’t press further. “What do you like to play?” I asked, changing the subject. “Do you like going to the playground? Or maybe the zoo, the aquarium?”

Liliana’s face lit up. “We love the zoo!” she exclaimed. “And the aquarium! But…” Her excitement faded as quickly as it came. “We never get to go. We wish Papa would take us, but he’s always busy.”

I felt a pang of sympathy for her. “Maybe one day,” I said softly.

Liliana giggled then, glancing over at Marco. “You know, we like to pull pranks on our nannies. And our tutor! We never do what they say. It’s funny to watch them worry about what Papa will do when he finds out.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

Marco piped up, his small voice filled with pride. “I like making other kids cry at the playground. That’s my favorite game to play.”

I stilled, my heart sinking at his words. These children were not only neglected but had learned to find joy in causing others pain. The thought filled me with a heavy sadness. They needed discipline—structure—but they also needed love. The kind of love they clearly weren’t used to.

Remembering Drago’s command that I couldn’t leave the property without permission, I asked them if there were any games they liked to play outside. Liliana perked up. “We have a swing set and some balls outside,” she said.

“Let’s go,” I suggested, and they eagerly led me out.

Outside, I took note of the enforcers stationed around the estate. Their ominous presence made my skin crawl, a constant reminder that I wasn’t free here. But I pushed that thought aside for the moment. Liliana showed off her hula hoop skills, spinning with surprising grace, while Marco asked me to push him on the swing. For a few moments at least, they seemed like normal children.

After a while, we headed back inside for lunch. The cook had prepared a simple but hearty meal, and we ate quietly, the children’s earlier mischief replaced by contentment.

But after lunch, the tutor arrived, an overweight woman a few inches shorter than me who was out of breath after climbing the staircase to greet us at the entrance to the children’s wing on the second floor. I excused myself and retreated to my suite, but curiosity got the better of me. I lingered near the playroom door, listening. It didn’t take long to hear the chaos. The children were out of control, mocking the tutor, throwing things, and refusing to listen, like little devils. The tutor’s voice was shaky, helpless as she alternated between pleading with them to be good and mimicking them when they paid no mind. She had no authority over them.

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