Reckless Nights With My Husband's Boss.

The first night

Inside my room, I tried to eat.

But the smell of the biscuits turned my stomach. Strangely, I craved something sour or tangy. I settled for a few bites anyway, forcing them down until the nausea eased.

A knock sounded at my door.

I opened it to find a chubby lady staring at me.

Her eyes moved slowly from my head to my toes.

“Good evening. How may I help you?” I asked politely.

“You help me?” she scoffed. “You should help yourself first. Don’t keep people waiting next time.”

She dropped a package on the floor and turned away.

“Arriving late and acting important,” she muttered as she walked down the hallway. “Rubbish.”

I shut the door quietly.

Who was she?

I picked up the package and locked the door before opening it.

Inside was a neatly folded uniform.

Two pairs of trousers. Two chef shirts. One formal gown, three apron, two hair bonnet and five pairs of hand gloves. Identical to what the other cooks wore.

There was also a printed instruction sheet detailing which uniform to wear on specific days.

I ran my fingers over the fabric.

Professional. Crisp and Clean.

For the first time in weeks, I smiled.

I hung everything carefully in the wardrobe and lay down.

I set my alarm and retired to bed. I need to make a good first impression tomorrow.

My alarm rang at 4:30 a.m.

I didn’t hear it.

By the time I jolted awake, it had rung three times.

“Great,” I muttered.

By 5 a.m., I dragged myself out of bed. My head still throbbed faintly, but I ignored it.

I showered quickly.

Then I put on the uniform.

It fit perfectly.

I looked at myself in the small mirror.

For a moment, I didn’t look like a broken woman.

I saw someone rebuilding. Almost like a professional cook.

I grabbed my hair bonnet and hand gloves and stepped out into the quiet hallway.

The estate was still asleep.

Or so I thought.

As I turned the corner toward the kitchen wing, I nearly collided with a tall figure stepping out of the shadows.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t apologize.

He simply looked down at me.

“New staff,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

My stomach tightened.

“Yes, sir.”

His gaze lingered for a second too long.

“Let’s see how long you last.”

Then he walked past me.

And for reasons I couldn’t explain, the headache behind my eyes pulsed violently again.

This was no ordinary household. Wearing his uniform.

And I had an uneasy feeling.

When I entered the kitchen, he was already there, moving around like he owned the place.

A few minutes later, the rude chubby woman from last night arrived.

The tall man cleared his throat.

“Good morning, everyone. My name is Chef Dylan Vincent. I’m the sous chef—head of kitchen operations.”

He pointed at the chubby woman. “Station chef, Miss Sandra Jones.”

She folded her arms, sizing me from head to toe.

“And this,” he gestured to a calm, lean man arranging glasses, “is Alpheus Kiel, beverage director. He handles all drinks in this house.”

Then he pointed at me.

“This is the new kitchen assistant. She’ll assist you two. Table setting, clearing, dishes. Support work.”

Support work.

Before I could process that, Chief Evelyn Carter walked in.

“Goodmorning chief, everyone greeted.

“Goodmorning. Everyone, your best behavior. Especially you, Camille.”

I stiffened.

“You’ll have closer contact with the chairman than the others.”

My pulse quickened.

“The boss returns this afternoon. Get to work.”

The moment she left, Chef Dylan pulled out his tablet.

“For appetizers: Oysters on the half shell. Heirloom tomato and burrata salad with basil pesto, aged balsamic reduction, microgreens, toasted pine nuts.”

He swiped the screen.

“ For the soup: Silky shellfish soup with cream and cognac.”

“Main course: Filet mignon with red wine reduction. Truffle mashed potatoes. Seasonal vegetables.”

“For dessert hmmmn, Ok let's do lemon tart with fresh berries. Artisan bread.”

“And finally for the drinks: Pinot noir. Sparkling water with fresh berries.”

Then he stepped aside and began pressing his phone, uninterested.

Alpheus motioned for me. “Come.”

The storeroom felt like a luxury supermarket.

A massive freezer stood at the center. Three large refrigerators lined the walls. Shelves stacked with imported ingredients.

We gathered what was available and drove to a nearby shopping mall for the rest.

By the time we returned, Sandra was barking orders.

“Chop faster.”

“No, not like that.”

“Is this how you cut herbs where you came from?”

I swallowed my pride and obeyed.

I worked until my arms trembled.

The smell of food made my stomach churn again.

We finished prepping shortly after noon.

Everyone ate and took extras back to their quarters.

Alpheus watched and directed me, as I set the dining table with precision.

“Freshen up,” he said quietly. “The Chairman might arrive any moment.”

I went to my room. The bed tempted me. My body begged to lie down.

I couldn’t.

When I returned, we waited. Though I slept in between on the kitchen table.

By five pm, everyone left and asked me to stay back. Chef Dylan asked me to call him immediately when the chairman arrived.

I waited until six pm.

By seven Chief Evelyn entered, I was dozing at the table.

“Where are the others?” She asked

“They went to relieve themselves” I lied while calling Dylan.

They rushed in almost immediately.

“Listen up,” she announced. “I just spoke to Mr Jake the chairman's P.A and he said the chairman will be running late. Dinner meeting with business partners. So tidy up and retire for today.”

That was it.

Wasted effort. Keeping people busy and worn out for nothing… he didn't even have the courtesy or decency to call and inform anyone.

Sandra’s voice pierced the silence.

“Hey, Cowmilk! Clear the dining.”

My head snapped up. “My name is Camille.”

“Whatever,” she said sharply.

I have survived worse than you, I told myself. Sandra. Don’t push me. I whispered to myself.

Before I reached the table, she was already transferring food into disposable containers.

I noticed her passing some to Chef Dylan.

Gluttons.

I clenched my jaw.

By the time I finished cleaning, it was past 8 p.m.

My head felt like it was splitting open.

I needed medication.

The pharmacy was a short walk away. I changed, removed my bra and wore a loose gown before stepping out.

The pharmacist, a woman in her fifties, studied me carefully.

“You look pale,” she said. “Severe headache?”

“Yes.”

She hesitated. “You should test for pregnancy first.”

I laughed. “No. That’s impossible.”

“Are you active?”

“No.”

At least… not recently. I answered shyly

“And your period, is it late?” She asked

No ma'am. I replied

I didn't even miss a period in 5 years of marriage.

Then something clicked.

My period. I've been too busy to calculate.

I did a quick count and I froze.

It had been six, maybe seven days late.

But I waved it off. I have never been this stressed all my life, a messy divorce, homelessness, toxic workplace and a new job all in two weeks. Of course my cycle would be off.

“Let’s just test,” she said gently pulling me out of my thoughts.

Reluctantly, I agreed.

The lab technician drew my blood.

Thirty minutes later, my name was called.

“Camille Christopher.”

My hands felt cold as I carried the result from the laboratory back to the pharmacist.

She scanned the paper.

Then she looked up at me.

Her expression changed.

She smiled.

And my heart thundered

Before she could say the word I dreaded most at this point in my life.

I prayed silently. Dear Lord, Please let it not be what I'm thinking.

Funny enough this is what I prayed and yearned for these past five years but now I dreaded it.

I hope God doesn't chose now to answer that prayer.

Wrong timing.