SABRINA

SABRINA

The pitter-patter of rain against the windows of M&M Street was nothing like the soft drizzle on Chocolate Island.

Before we begin, lovely readers… I am Sabrina Maeve. We live in a place whose name is only spoken, never seen—a place that can only be breached once. We know only what they allow us to know. We see only what they want us to see.

This is not a work of fiction, as it may seem. It is true—because I have lived through it.

Here, you’re given the illusion of a perfect life. Well spent? Not exactly.

I can share only a little for now, but I promise updates. Until then, get comfortable.

---

Kairo Street

7th North Section

Company 21

Summer Season

I stepped outside, grateful I’d woken early enough to style my hair just right—an updo of curly buns, with a few loose strands framing my face. Rainy season in M&M Street meant a chilly air that pushed me to run faster to my car.

Yes, the rainy season can be charming—hot cocoa, a good book, the cozy patter of rain—but no one talks about the heaviness of warm clothes, the shock of bare feet on cold floors, or the way your blanket betrays you in the middle of the night, sliding off and leaving you to freeze.

No. Bad. The cold is horrible.

The drive to work was the same as always: starting cold, ending warm. I wore a crisp white dress shirt, a dark blue corset, and a fitted flared skirt. Loafers on my feet, Stanley cup in hand—purely for fun.

Reaching Company 21, registered under the Hudsons, wasn’t hard. But it always felt longer than it was.

You see, in The City, everyone is rich, well-to-do, flourishing—call it what you like. We don’t lack for anything. But there are those above us—high-ranking officials, people we respect without question. I don’t need the paycheck here; The City provides for its people. Why work? For the fun of it.

Again—no questions asked.

I walked in with a smile, because why not?

I smiled at the man at the gate. Don’t know his name. Sue me.

I smiled at a few other workers.

But Brenda? Bren is different.

---

Third Person POV

Sabrina’s white dress shirt paired neatly with a flared skirt and deep blue vest. Leggings beneath, loafers tapping softly against the floor. She stood in the morning sun, her olive-toned skin glowing as she adjusted her fashion glasses and stepped out of her BMW 330i.

“Stop standing there and get in,” Brenda called, finally breaking her silence after watching her friend bask in the sun for nearly half an hour. “Doesn’t it feel like it’s going to roast you alive? I have sunscreen, you know.”

“Brenda!” Sabrina waved, her usual bright mood in place.

Brenda only rolled her eyes.

“Didn’t watch the news this morning, did you?”

“No reason to,” Sabrina replied, walking to her desk.

“You might want to this time.” Brenda followed, stopping by the receptionist’s space.

“Receptionist today?” Brenda asked, arching a brow.

“Nah, just killing time with you before the boss arrives.”

“Oh.” Brenda began unpacking her things. “Remember Jessica?”

“We know everyone in The City, Bren. That fragile girl? Always bullied by the so-called ‘high and mighty’?” Sabrina made air quotes, then pretended to gag. “What’s up with her… Don’t tell me—”

Brenda’s slow nod was enough.

“Oh, that’s a bummer. This is why I don’t watch the news—they’re always up to no good.”

“She was out last night,” Brenda said quietly.

Sabrina’s voice softened. “I promised to help her. I didn’t think she’d… not make it to the next day.”

“The killer—”

“Hush, Bren.” Sabrina’s hand clamped over her mouth.

“It’s daylight. He can’t do anything. Besides, you’re not scared… right?” Brenda scoffed.

Everyone believed that—because he never struck during the day.

“I’m betting her so-called friends put her up to it,” Brenda muttered, walking in with coffee.

“They’re no friends, Bren! And how could—” Sabrina stopped when Brenda arched a brow.

“Deep breath, Sabrina Berlins.”

Sabrina exhaled slowly, the rush of emotion bringing a faint flush to her cheeks.

“That’s bad,” she muttered.

“And her body?”

“You don’t want to know. But there’s a burial service. Everyone must attend.”

It was customary to attend every burial in The City—whether or not you knew the deceased.

No one leaves this place. Wealth doesn’t matter; titles do. You can live lavishly here, but there’s one unspoken rule: never be out at night.

It’s simple. Curfew is 8:30. If you’re still out after that, your fate is sealed—regardless of age.

---

“Rina?” Mrs. Hudson walked in, her clumsy husband trailing behind. He grinned widely and waved.

“Hey, Riri. Bren-bren.”

Brenda rolled her eyes at the nickname but greeted him anyway.

“Up to my office,” Mrs. Hudson ordered. Efficient, always in motion, she had no patience for small talk. To her, time was money.

Sabrina followed. How a woman barely 5’4” could walk that fast was beyond her.

“The girl—Jessica—is dead. Never really liked her,” Mrs. Hudson said flatly.

“She was bullied, and now she’s dead. We could at least show some respect,” Sabrina replied, turning to Mr. Hudson for support. But he was daydreaming. When he noticed her stare, he nodded quickly.

“Yes, yes. Exactly.”

“I see. And the printer—was it upgraded?”

“It was.”

“Good. I won’t deal with an old, faulty printer. I need my work fast and clear.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“One of the Elites will be here. I’m not sure which is in charge of our branch now, but make sure this place is spotless and top-notch. Understood?”

Her Louis Vuitton bag hung in the crook of her arm, chin high, makeup a touch too heavy they sometimes looked like they were practicing social distancing

Sabrina nodded.

“Press the button, darling.” Mrs. Hudson gestured to the elevator, unwilling to touch it with her freshly manicured nails.

Mr. Hudson hurried forward, nearly bumping her, but she adjusted without comment. Observant ones like Sabrina could tell—despite appearances—she did care for him.

Only when the elevator doors closed behind them did Sabrina exhale and return to work.

And from there her day began as the secretary to the Hudson's.