Deeper

5. Unsuspected Turn

••••••••Josh••••••••

Last night's events with Monica were… off. Out of character, even for her. That’s why I decided to take Brooklyn to my mansion. I don’t know what Monica might try next — and honestly, this whole mess is partially my fault. Monica’s father is a high-ranking player in the underground, the kind of man who can make problems disappear. She’s used his power to ruin lives before, and I won’t let Brooklyn be next.

Unlike her parents, Monica isn’t wealthy. They cut her off, hoping she’d build something for herself. But she’s not interested in building — just in skipping straight to luxury through marriage. For years, I was foolish enough to believe she actually cared about me, until she used my past against me to keep me close.

I hate that she still takes up space in my mind — especially now, with a woman like Brooklyn asleep beside me in the car. She looks peaceful. Innocent. Nothing like the chaos I left behind.

I pull into the mansion's driveway and carry her inside, bridal style. Medeia, my housekeeper, opens the door for me.

I take Brooklyn upstairs and place her in the spare room closest to mine. It feels too soon to bring her into my own space — too forward. She’s still in last night’s dress, but I decide not to change her. I just slip off her shoes, cover her with a blanket, and gently move a few strands of hair from her face. Then I kiss her forehead lightly and step out.

Medeia meets me in the hallway with an amused expression.

“This is the first time you’ve brought a woman home. Is she someone special?” she asks, hands on her hips.

She clearly doesn’t remember Brooklyn’s first visit — or maybe she does, and she’s just testing me.

“She is,” I answer simply.

“I see,” Medeia says with a sly grin. “Let’s hope this time you’re seeing clearly.”

I roll my eyes as she turns back to the kitchen.

“It’s late. You should head home,” I call after her.

“I was just waiting for you, dear. You’re still like a son to me, remember? I was around when you were running around this place in nappies,” she chuckles, grabbing her purse and ordering a ride.

“Bye, Medeia,” I say as she waves me off.

I shake my head. “Weird woman,” I mumble before heading to my room for a much-needed shower and sleep.

---

### •••••••Brooklyn•••••••

I wake up in a strange bed, in a strange room, still wearing my dress from last night. My head is pounding.

It takes a moment, but then it all comes rushing back — Monica’s sudden appearance… Josh’s car… falling asleep…

“Where am I?” I whisper, climbing out of bed and making my way toward the door.

This must be Josh’s house. I recognize the layout from that one night I ended up here before, though this time I wasn't in his room.

I walk into the kitchen and nearly jump when I see an older woman in a crisp uniform. She turns to me with a welcoming smile.

“Excuse me, could you tell me where Josh is?” I ask politely.

“Good morning, Mademoiselle. I hope you slept well. Mr. Miller is in his study.”

His study? I didn’t even know he had one. Then again, I wasn’t exactly exploring the place last time.

Wait — yesterday was Sunday, right?

Oh no.

“What time is it?” I ask, trying not to panic.

“Half past seven, dear. Why?”

“I’m late for work,” I mutter, already turning back toward the guest room.

“Oh! What’s your name, love?”

“Brooklyn — but you can call me Brook. And yours?”

“Medeia.” She smiles again and leaves the kitchen.

I hurry back to the room, searching for my purse, phone, anything — but all I find are my shoes, neatly placed by the bed.

When I turn around, Medeia is in the doorway.

“Mr. Miller has your things. And don’t worry about tidying up, that’s my job,” she says, stepping aside to let me pass.

“He’s waiting for you in the study — second door on your right from the kitchen.”

“Thank you,” I say quickly and head off.

I knock lightly. A calm voice answers, “Come in.”

The study is huge, with white walls and a large chocolate-brown desk at its center. File cabinets, shelves with framed photos and fresh flowers, a refreshment station with a kettle and fridge — it’s surprisingly warm for a workspace.

Josh stands behind the desk, looking effortlessly put together.

“Morning, beautiful. Sleep well?” he asks, and I feel my cheeks flush.

“I did, thank you. But I’m running late for work, and I really need to go.”

He leans back with a casual smile. “I already called your boss. You’re not going in today. Or tomorrow. Or ever.”

“What?” My voice rises in disbelief. “You did what?!”

“That job wasn’t right for you. You’re going to work for me now, love.”

He strides past me and out of the room like this is completely normal.

“I can’t believe this!” I shout after him, marching behind. “We are not done talking, Mr. Miller!”