Isabella’s POV

The warehouse was cold, damp, and smelled of rust. My thin jacket did nothing against the night air seeping through the broken windows. I sat on the floor, knees pulled up to my chest, staring at the black card between my fingers. I flipped it over and over, the words blurring.

Maid. He didn’t even say housekeeper. Maid. As if I was nothing.

My pride screamed at me not to even think about it, but… where else could I go? My stomach cramped in protest, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since morning.

The sudden vibration of my phone startled me. I almost dropped it. An unknown number. My heart lurched. Against my better judgment, I answered.

“Hello?” My voice was small, hesitant.

“Isabella…” I froze. That voice. No. It couldn’t be.

“Nathan?” My throat tightened. “What do you want?”

“It was a mistake,” he rushed out, sounding desperate. “Sarah… she seduced me. You know I would never…”

“Don’t.” My voice cracked, but I forced more into it. “Don’t you dare lie to me. I saw you. With my own eyes.”

Silence. Then his tone shifted, sharp and venomous.

“You think you’re better than me now?” he spat. “Look at you, Isabella. You don’t even have a roof over your head. You’re wandering the streets like a stray dog. And you still act like you’re too good for me?”

My chest tightened. My fingers trembled around the phone.

“Without me, you’re nothing,” he hissed. “No family. No home. Who else will want you? You should be crawling back, begging for me to take you back before it’s too late.”

The words sliced through me, reopening wounds I thought I’d already bled dry. My eyes burned with tears, my pride aching with every insult. But somehow, I found my voice, broken, cracked, but mine.

“I would rather sleep on the streets than crawl back to you.”

I hung up before he could answer. My hand shook so badly I almost dropped the phone. The silence of the warehouse pressed down on me again, but his words echoed in my skull. Nothing. Stray dog. No home.

The card was still in my hand. That smug man’s name staring at me in bold print: Julian Rothwell. I pressed it so tight my palm burned, but throwing it away felt like admitting Nathan was right. And I would rather starve than give him that satisfaction.

The next morning, I dragged myself up from the cold bench I had slept on. My back ached from the wood, my stomach from emptiness, but I forced my chin up. I could still find work. I would find work.

I pushed open the door of a little shop and bowed slightly.

“Please, sir, are you looking for extra hands?”

The owner barely glanced at me. His eyes scanned my worn out shoes, my wrinkled dress, and the answer was already written on his face.

“No. We don’t need anyone,” he muttered, dismissing me with a flick of his hand.

My throat tightened. “I can do anything, clean, wash, lift boxes…”

“I said no!” he barked, sharp enough that the other customers turned to look.

Heat rose to my face as I backed out quickly, murmuring apologies that no one cared to hear. By noon, rejection clung to me like sweat. My legs trembled with every step, but I forced myself into a bakery next.

The sweet scent of fresh bread mocked me, curling around my empty stomach. The woman at the counter didn’t even let me finish my sentence.

“Not hiring.” She waved me off without looking up from the cash register.

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. “Please, even part time…”

“Not hiring!”

The finality in her tone hit harder than a slap. I stumbled back into the street, blinking fast to hold the tears down.

By the second day, my lips were cracked from thirst, my belly hollow. Still, I walked into a laundry shop and begged the man folding shirts.

“Please. I can wash faster than anyone you know. I…”

“Do you see any signboard outside?” he cut me off. “No vacancy. Can’t you read?”

The women nearby giggled. One leaned closer to whisper loud enough for me to hear:

“She’s desperate. Maybe she should try begging instead.”

Their laughter followed me out like a curse. Back in the warehouse, my stomach twisted in pain, but it wasn’t only hunger. It was shame. I had nothing, not a coin, not even a safe corner to crawl into. And maybe… maybe Nathan was right.

I pressed my forehead against my knees, shaking. If only I had saved money… but how could I? From the moment the orphanage pushed me out at eighteen, I had met him, Nathan. He said he loved me. He was the first person who ever had. When he smiled at me, touched my hand, called me his, I thought I had finally found home.

And when he demanded to know what I earned, when he asked for every paycheck, every cent… I thought it was normal. I thought that was what love meant sharing everything. I didn’t realize I was giving him everything while he gave me nothing back.

Now here I was. Empty. Starving. Homeless. And his voice still echoed in my head:

“You’re nothing without me.”

I wanted to scream that he was wrong. But deep down… I wasn’t so sure anymore.

I sat there in the dark, the only sound the dripping roof of the abandoned warehouse. My fingers traced the edges of the business card over and over until I thought I’d wear the print off it.

Suddenly, the rattling of footsteps echoed near the broken door. My breath hitched. Two shadows stumbled in, laughter thick with alcohol.

“Ah, see fresh meat,” one slurred, eyes darting straight to me. My stomach dropped.

I scrambled to my feet, hugging my bag against my chest.

“I…I was just leaving.”

They laughed, the kind that made my blood run cold.

“Leaving? Nah, stay smallie. Keep us company.”

I bolted, heart pounding, their footsteps and jeers chasing after me. The night air slapped my face as I ran barefoot down the broken street, tears blurring my sight. I didn’t stop until I was blocks away, lungs burning, chest aching.

And then the sky opened up. Rain poured without mercy, soaking my hair, my clothes, every ounce of warmth left in me. I hugged myself under a flickering streetlight, shivering until my teeth rattled.

The card burned in my pocket the whole night, and by morning I had read the address on it so many times I could recite it backwards. I had told myself I wouldn’t go, that I still had pride left, even if the world had spat me out. But after wandering streets, begging for work, watching doors slam in my face, and feeling the ache of hunger gnawing at my stomach, my pride began to feel like a luxury I could no longer afford.

The bus ride was long, my last crumpled notes slipping from my fingers into the conductor’s hand. I sat by the window, forehead pressed against the glass, and watched as the world slowly changed outside. The cracked pavements and noisy markets faded into neat sidewalk lined with trees that seemed too perfectly trimmed, too full of life. The air itself felt different, less smoke, more perfume of flowers I didn’t know the names of.

Every time the bus stopped, sleek cars rolled past, their polished bodies glinting like they belonged to another planet. I shrank into myself, tugging my old bag tighter to my chest, hoping no one could tell how out of place I was.

When the bus finally dropped me off, I had to walk for a while. My feet dragged against the tiled walkways, every step heavier than the last. And then, in the distance, I saw it. Julian’s house. No, mansion.

It rose out of the ground like a palace. High walls framed by wrought-iron gates, the kind I’d only ever seen in magazines when people flaunted “dream homes.” The driveway sparkled like polished stone, wide enough for three cars to glide side by side. The garden, if you could even call it that, was a work of art, with hedges cut into shapes and flowers arranged in bursts of color that looked like they’d been painted into place.

I stopped at the gate, clutching the strap of my bag so tightly my knuckles ached. My chest rose and fell too quickly, a war raging inside me.

I straightened my shoulders, though my body trembled.

“It’s just work,” I whispered. “It’s just a job. Don’t think.”

And with that, I dragged my feet up the steps, heart hammering, until I stood before the grand door. My finger lingered above the doorbell, my reflection in the polished brass handle making me wince at how small, how ragged I looked. Still, I pressed it.

The melodic chime floated through the house, and within moments, the door opened. A man in his fifties stood before me, sharp suit, silver hair combed back, eyes as keen as a hawk’s.

He looked at me once, head to toe, and at that moment I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

“Yes?” His voice carried authority, even in that single word.

“I… I was told to come here. About the job.”

The man’s brows knitted, his gaze sharp enough to slice me in two.

“What job?” he asked, clipped and formal, the kind that demanded respect without effort.

I swallowed, my throat dry as paper. My fingers fumbled inside my bag until they brushed against the card. I pulled it out and held it like a shield between us.

“The… the CEO, Julian,” I stammered, the name catching awkwardly in my mouth, “he said he was looking for a maid. He… he gave me this.”

The man’s eyes flickered down at the card, then back to me. Slowly, he let his gaze sweep over me from the worn shoes that pinched my toes, to the faded dress that had lost its shape, to the fraying strap of my bag. Heat crawled up my neck under the weight of that inspection.

For a moment, I thought he would slam the door in my face. My chest rose and fell too fast, panic pressing tight against my ribs.

But then, with the faintest sigh, he stepped aside.

“Come in.”

Relief flooded me so quickly I nearly stumbled forward. The moment my foot crossed the threshold, the air shifted, cool, crisp, carrying the faint scent of polished wood and something floral, expensive. My eyes widened. The floor gleamed beneath my feet, so spotless I could almost see my reflection in the marble. The walls were lined with art that looked like it belonged in a museum, each frame glowing under the soft lighting.

I clutched my bag tighter, shrinking into myself as the man closed the door behind me. Everything here looked too perfect, too untouchable. And me? I felt like a stain on white silk.

The man’s shoes clicked against the marble as he walked ahead, not bothering to look back.

“Follow me.” I obeyed, my heart thudding with each step, the sound of my worn soles painfully out of place against the mansion’s grandeur.

The man led me into a sitting room so wide it could have swallowed the entire orphanage I grew up in. The sofa looked too delicate to sit on, the kind you’d only ever seen in movies. My knees almost buckled when he gestured for me to take a seat. I perched on the edge, afraid I’d wrinkle the velvet with my weight. My fingers twisted around the strap of my bag.

The man settled into the chair opposite me, his posture straight, his expression carved from stone. He studied me again, as though trying to peel me open and see what was inside.

“Name?” he asked, tone brisk, businesslike.

“Isabella,” I said quickly, my voice thinner than I intended. “Isabella Cruz.”

His eyes flickered, then dropped to an invisible list in his head.

“Age?”

“Twenty-two,” I replied, trying not to sound defensive, but it came out clipped. He made a soft sound, not approval, not disapproval, just… nothing.

His pen scratched against a small notebook he had pulled from his pocket.

“Housekeeping experience?” he asked.

The question made my stomach twist. I wet my lips, forcing the words out.

“I…I kept the orphanage dormitory clean when I lived there… and after that I lived with my… with someone, and I took care of everything. Cleaning, laundry, cooking.” My voice dropped at the end, shame curling in my chest as Nathan’s shadow brushed against me.

His pen paused mid-stroke. “So, no formal experience?”

I shook my head. “No, sir.”

For a moment, the silence pressed down on me like a weight. The only sound was the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. I could feel my palms dampening, my back stiff with tension.

The man scribbled something down. Then he leaned back slightly, gaze sharp.

“Do you understand the nature of this work, Miss Carter? A household of this size requires discipline, punctuality, discretion. This is not a place for… experiments.”

My throat tightened. “I can do it,” I blurted, almost desperate. “I…I may not have a certificate, but I learn fast. And I don’t mind hard work.”

He studied me for a long moment, eyes narrowing as though measuring whether my words carried any weight. Before he could continue, the heavy sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. Each step carried authority, sharp against the marble floor, until finally, he appeared.

I froze, my chest tightening as his tall frame filled the doorway. His presence was nothing like Nathan’s shallow charm. Julian’s aura felt heavier, colder, like the air bent around him. His tailored suit fit like it was made for a king, and his eyes dark, sharp, rested on me. He didn’t look surprised to see me. If anything, the corner of his mouth tilted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. More like… mockery.

“So, you actually came,” he drawled, his voice smooth but cutting, like a blade dipped in honey. He let out a short scoff, shaking his head as though amused by his own prediction. “I thought you’d let that pride of yours starve you first.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, shame burning in my chest. My fingers dug into the strap of my bag, but I couldn’t form words.

Julian didn’t wait for a reply. His gaze slid past me to the man who had been questioning me.

“Niles,” he said, tone commanding, final. “Show her to the guest room. She’ll be staying here.”

My eyes widened. “Staying… here?” I whispered before I could stop myself.

Julian’s eyes snapped back to me, expression unreadable.

“I don’t like my staff arriving late,” he said coolly. “And I have a habit of wanting food at… inconvenient hours. My maid should be available when I need her, not when it suits her.”

The word maid felt like a chain settling around my neck. He didn’t say it with respect; it sounded like ownership.

Niles only gave a small bow, unfazed, and turned toward the hallway.

“This way, Miss Carter.”

I rose slowly, legs trembling as though they weren’t mine. I could still feel Julian’s eyes on my back, until the corner swallowed me whole.