Beneath His Sheets

She must have been a virgin. Or maybe he was just too rough this time. I pulled the red-stained sheets from Damien Valentini’s bed, rolled them up, and tossed them into the hamper. He’d left for work an hour ago — looking like a God carved from money and arrogance, as usual. Damien Valentini had the kind of presence that made people straighten their backs when he walked by. Dark hair always perfectly styled, a jawline sharp enough to slice through glass, Italian suits tailored to his sins, and those eyes—those intense storm-gray eyes that looked like they could read your thoughts and judge them instantly. I prayed daily for those eyes to look at me. Even just once. Even by accident. But Damien never looked at anyone who didn’t matter. And I? I was the housekeeper who washed the evidence of his nights with women who all looked like they belonged on magazine covers. A professional ghost. Invisible. Replaceable. “Grace, I’m done.” Kate’s voice pulled me out of another useless daydream. “I’ll go grocery shopping later. Could you clean the kitchen?” “Yeah, sure.” I tucked a stray curl behind my ear. “What time will he be home again?” “Quarter to five,” she checked her phone. “So I’ll go now.” We always rushed. It wasn’t a rule, but out of respect — and survival — we were expected to be out of the way when Damien came home. Sometimes he made such a mess that we had no choice but to still be around. He didn’t care, though. He barely acknowledged our existence. I stripped the pillows next and hummed to distract myself. Cleaned the mirrors. Refilled his toiletries. Folded his suits. Arranged his ties by color, then material, then width — exactly how he liked them. A door slammed. I jumped. “Damn it… not again.” His bedroom door — and then moaning. My stomach twisted, but I still peeked, like a pathetic masochist. Damien had a woman pressed against the wall, kissing down her neck with skill. She was tall. Model-tall. Her legs looked longer than my entire life. His hand slid up her thigh, lifting her dress like he owned the world and everything in it. “F*ck, Dame,” she moaned, arching. I froze, breath shallow. This was normal. Routine. Another beautiful woman, another night, another reminder that I lived galaxies below his type. He unbuttoned his shirt — the one I had ironed perfectly not even two hours ago — and tossed it aside like it meant nothing. “Help him at least…” I muttered under my breath, though the sound of their moans swallowed my voice. I backed away and hid in the walk-in closet, praying they wouldn’t decide to do it here. I tried drowning out the sounds by focusing on my thoughts anywhere else. It took forever, but eventually, their noises moved toward the bathroom. Shower. Good. My cue to run. I slipped out the door as quietly as possible. Kate grabbed my wrist the second I stepped out. “So, who was it this time?” “I didn’t get a good look. Damien was… busy.” “Please,” she snorted. “If they’re done showering, they’ll go at it again until someone faints from dehydration.” I snorted. She wasn’t wrong. After putting away groceries, I finished cleaning and picked up the faux-fur coat Damien’s date left behind. It smelled like smoke, alcohol, and Chanel — a scent I could recognize even from a different room. Probably one of the women from the club he liked. I folded it neatly on the sofa where she’d see it. ~*~*~*~*~ “Kate, I’m leaving!” “I hate you,” she said dramatically. Madame Eve didn’t like approving leave days — even when we were dying. She only let me go today because I hadn’t taken one in months… and because she caught me accidentally witnessing her having an intimate conversation on her phone with someone. I didn’t say anything, but she knew I knew. “I’ll bring you something,” I grinned. “A condom?” she said. “Kidding. Kind of. Take care, okay? Don’t leave me alone in this job.” I laughed and waved goodbye. I was heading to my cousin Bianca’s bridal shower — the first real social event I’d attended in forever. She rented a condo near the clubs, so everything was close enough for her dramatic pre-wedding antics. “Gracie!” Bianca crashed into me the second I walked in. Her breath reeked of vodka. “My cousin is here! Now we can start!” “We’ve met before,” I reminded her friends, laughing. A small bottle of vodka was shoved into my hand. “Pre-game! Chug! Chug! Chug!” I wasn’t much of a drinker, but whatever. One swallow, two, three — I felt the burn bloom in my chest. Bianca clapped. “Okay! Makeover time! No bridesmaid of mine is going to look boring!” She pointed at me. “Especially you, Gee!” “Hey!” I protested. “I like my boring clothes.” But the makeover had already begun. Makeup, hair, glitter, and then the dress — the shortest thing I’d ever worn in my life. I walked out of the bathroom and the room fell silent. “Okay, nope. This is too short. My butt is literally out. I’m changing.” “Nooo!” one of Bianca’s friends shouted. “You look f*cking hot, Grace! Where were you hiding that body?” Bianca hugged me. “You’re not coming to my wedding looking like a grandma. You look incredible.” Another shot. Then another. By the time we left the condo, I was warm and dizzy. We arrived at the club, music pounding through my veins. Men stared. Too many. I tugged the dress down every five seconds. Still, I tried to have fun. After enough drinks, the embarrassment wore off and I let myself dance. Laugh. Forget. Until a hand slid under my dress. I jerked away. “Creep!” I shoved him hard. Bianca threw her drink in his face, and her friends shouted at him until he disappeared into the crowd. “Are you okay?” Bianca asked. I nodded, but my stomach felt hollow. “I… I think I want to go home.”