Signed In Secrets

Chapter 1

Amelia

The scent of whiskey and stale beer clings to the air, mixing with the distant hum of laughter and the clatter of glasses. I wipe down the counter; my movements are automatic, and my mind is elsewhere.

“Another round?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

The man grins, sliding his empty glass toward me. “You’re a mind reader.”

If only. Maybe then I’d understand why Daniel disappeared.

I keep my hands steady as I pour the drink, but my thoughts slip through my fingers like spilt liquor. Three months. Ninety-three days since his last call. Eight unanswered texts. Two voicemails were left to rot in the void.

I told myself he was just busy, that time zones made things complicated, and that maybe—just maybe—he’d reach out when things settled.

But nothing settled. And the silence stretched.

“Miss?”

I realise I’ve been standing still, whiskey overflowing from the glass, dripping onto the counter.

“s**t—sorry,” I mutter, grabbing a rag to wipe it up.

Across the bar, Paul, my manager, gives me a look—a sharp one, a warning.

I swallow hard and push through the rest of my shift, ignoring the weight in my chest. But when the last patron stumbles out and the bar lights dim, Paul walks over, arms crossed.

“Amelia, we need to talk.”

My fingers tighten around the rag, and the damp fabric cools against my palm. I know where this is going.

Paul sighs, rubbing his temple like he’s trying to find the softest way to say what I already know. “Look, Amelia… you’ve been off lately. Distracted. Customers have noticed, and so have I.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand. “I get it. We all go through rough patches. But you’re making mistakes, and it’s hurting business.”

A flicker of hope stirs in my chest. A warning. That’s all this is. I can fix this.

“I’ll do better,” I say quickly. “I just—” I hesitate, gripping the rag tighter. “I’ve been dealing with some things, but I swear, I won’t let it affect work anymore.”

Paul exhales like he wants to believe me. “I need to see real improvement, Amelia. No more zoning out. No more spills. No more customers waving me down because you’re lost in your head.”

I nod so fast my neck aches. “Got it. No more distractions.”

But even as I say it, I wonder if it’s a promise I can keep.

For the following few shifts, I try. I do.

I force myself to smile more, to stay present. When customers call for drinks, I answer right away. When Paul watches me from across the bar, I keep my head down and work.

But the exhaustion is always there, pressing against my ribs. The ache of uncertainty and the silence from Daniel follows me like a shadow.

And then, I mess up.

It’s a Friday night, and the bar is packed with bodies and noise. A man orders an old-fashioned, and I go through the motions, muddling the sugar and pouring the whiskey. But my hands are clumsy. My mind is elsewhere.

I miscalculate the pour, spilling too much liquor. When I reach for a napkin, my elbow knocks over another drink, sending dark liquid splashing onto the counter and a customer’s sleeve.

“Are you kidding me?” the man snaps, jerking back. His shirt is ruined.

My stomach twists. “I’m so sorry—let me get you a towel—”

Paul is already there, stepping between us, offering the man a discount on his tab. The customer mutters under his breath and stalks off.

Paul turns to me, and I know.

The flicker of patience in his expression is gone, replaced with something heavier.

“Carter,” he says, voice tight. “My office. Now.”

Paul’s office is small, cluttered with papers and the lingering scent of coffee and whiskey. I stand in front of his desk, arms crossed over my chest like I can hold myself together.

He exhales, leaning back in his chair. “Amelia, I gave you a warning.”

“I know.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

“You said you’d focus. That things would get better.”

“I tried,” I say quickly, desperation creeping in. “Paul, I swear, I tried.”

He studies me for a long moment, trying to decide if there’s anything left to say. Then he sighs, and I know the answer.

“This isn’t easy for me,” he says, rubbing his temple, “but I must let you go.”

Let you go.

The words hit like ice water, shocking but not entirely unexpected.

“I—I just need a little more time,” I stammer. “I can do better. I will do better.”

Paul shakes his head. “It’s not just one mistake, Amelia. You’ve been checked out for weeks. I can’t have that here.”

A lump rises in my throat. I look down at my hands, knuckles white from gripping the edge of my jacket.

“I wish things were different,” Paul says, and for the first time, I see the regret in his expression. “But I have a business to run.”

There’s nothing left to say.

I nod stiffly, swallow the lump, and walk out before embarrassing myself further.

The moment I step outside, the cold night air slams into me, and reality sinks in.

I lost my job.

I have no savings. There is no backup plan.

Three years of saving, scraping by on tips, taking extra shifts even when my feet ached—so he could have his shot. So he could go abroad and chase the career he had always dreamed of. And at first, it had been worth it. The late-night calls, the promises of a future, how he’d told me I was the best thing ever happening to him.

Then, the calls became texts, and the texts became silent. Three months had passed without a word.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the lump in my throat to disappear. There wasn't any point in dwelling on it. Right now, I have more significant problems—like how I would pay my rent.

I don’t remember walking to the diner. One minute, I’m stepping out of the bar, cold air stinging my cheeks, and the next, I’m sliding into a booth across from Maya.

She’s already there, a cup of coffee in hand, her dark curls on her head. She glances up from her phone, a smirk forming. “You look like hell.”

“Feel like it, too,” I mutter, dropping my bag beside me.

She tilts her head, her teasing expression softening just a little. “Rough shift?”

I exhale sharply. “I got fired.”

Maya blinks. “Wait—what?”

I nod, gripping the table's edge like it’s the only thing holding me together. “Paul warned me, but I still messed up. He had no choice.”

For a second, Maya stares at me as if waiting for me to say I’m joking. When I don’t, she leans forward, setting her phone aside. “Amelia…”

I shake my head. “I don’t even blame him. I’ve been a mess for months. I just—I thought I could hold it together.”

Maya doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, she watches me, her eyes searching. Then she sighs and waves down the waitress. “Two slices of pie. Extra whipped cream.”

I blink. “What—?”

“You just got fired. We need sugar before we deal with this disaster,” she says, then narrows her eyes. “And don’t argue with me. I will fight you.”

Despite everything, my lips twitch. This is why I called Maya. Because even when everything feels like it’s crumbling, she reminds me that I’m still standing.

For now.

Maya doesn’t rush me. She waits until I take a bite of the pie and exhale a little slower. Then, she rests her elbows on the table, overseeing me.

“All right,” she says. “What’s the plan?”

I poke at my plate. “I don’t have one.”

Maya lifts a brow. “Well, you need one. When’s rent due?”

The question sends a sharp pang through my chest. I swallow. “End of the week.”

She exhales, leaning back. “And your savings?”

I stare at my fork.

Maya’s mouth fell open. “Amelia. You worked there for years.”

I picked at the hem of my sleeve. “I was saving. But then Daniel—”

Maya groaned, throwing her head back. “Oh my God.”

“I thought I was helping him,” I said defensively.

“You were.” She exhaled sharply. “But did he ever send anything back? Even a little to help you out?”

Maya shakes her head. “Okay, no. We’re not doing this. You’re not spiralling. You’re going to get a new job. ASAP.”

I huff a laugh. “Oh, just like that?”

“Yes, just like that,” she says, grabbing her phone. “We’re going to look for openings right now. Something fast. Something that pays.”

Because no matter how much it hurt to admit it, she was right. Daniel was gone. And I had to figure out how to move forward—without him.

I rub a hand over my face. “Maya, I don’t even know where to start.”

She nudges my foot under the table. “That’s why you have me.”

Immediately, she scrolls through her phone, lips pursed in concentration. “Okay, let’s see… retail? No, you’d throw hands with a rude customer.”

“Valid,” I mutter.

“Waitressing?”

I shake my head. “I just lost a bartending job. No way I can go back into food service right now.”

She hums, still searching. I glance out the window, the city lights blurring together. The weight in my chest settles deeper.

I have days—days—to figure this out.

Then Maya’s voice cuts through my panic. “Here’s one. Live-in caretaker from Sinclair’s holdings.”

I blink, looking at her. “What?”

The name hit me like a punch to the gut. Ethan Sinclair. The billionaire playboy. I’d heard whispers about him. Headlines about his lavish lifestyle and broken relationship with Victoria Lawson, the famous model. He was the kind of man used to getting whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.

“Why would someone like Ethan be looking for a caretaker?” I asked Maya.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s for his grandma”, she responded.

She turns the phone toward me. “Caretaker. He says it’s a live-in position with good pay. No former experience is required, just someone responsible. Looks legit.”

Live-in. My stomach twists. That would mean moving—a whole new situation. But…

I don’t have time to be picky.

Maya observes me. “I think you should apply.”

I exhaled slowly, staring at the job listing on Maya's phone.

She watches me expectantly. I wet my lips, and then I nodded.

“I will.”

The words leave my mouth before I can second-guess them. But as Maya smiles in relief, I can't shake the feeling that I've just agreed to something far more significant than I realised.