Chapter 1
Aria's POV
The towel slipped from my trembling hands for the third time that morning. I'd been working at the Meridian Hotel for almost a year now, and my manager had never looked at me the way he was looking at me now, like I was his last resort and his biggest problem rolled into one.
"Aria," he said, voice carrying that edge that made my stomach clench. "Maya called in sick." Food poisoning. The boss needs someone to cover the penthouse party tonight.
I gripped the laundry cart handle until my knuckles went white. "Couldn't Sarah do it?" Or Jennifer? My voice came out smaller than I intended. "I don't really... I mean, I'm better at housekeeping.
His expression hardened. He specifically asked for someone reliable. Someone who won't cause problems." The unspoken threat hung in the air between us. "You want to keep this job, don't you?"
The question hit like a physical blow. This job was everything: my rent, my food, my chance at saving enough to maybe go back to school someday. If I saved carefully enough, maybe I could finally finish my nursing degree. That dream had been sitting on the shelf for years, collecting dust while reality forced me to work instead.
I couldn’t lose this job. Not when I was barely holding on.
"What... what would I have to do exactly?"
Serve drinks. Clear glasses. Stay out of the way. The outfit's in the staff room. He was already turning away, dismissing me. "Eight o'clock sharp." Don't mess this up.
Two hours later, I stood in the staff changing room, staring at the uniform laid out on the bench. The black skirt barely reached mid-thigh, and the white top was cut lower than anything I'd ever worn. My hands shook as I held it up to my chest.
Just for tonight, I told myself. Get through tonight, and everything goes back to normal. Rent, saving, maybe school someday.
But as I changed into the outfit, catching glimpses of myself in the small mirror, normal felt like a lifetime away.
The elevator ride to the penthouse felt endless. My reflection stared back at me from the polished doors wide brown eyes, dark hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, looking exactly like what I was: a girl who didn’t belong in this world.
The doors opened to a wall of sound and sensation. Jazz music mixed with laughter, the clink of crystal glasses, and conversations in languages I couldn’t identify. The penthouse stretched out before me like something from a movie floor-to-ceiling windows showing the city lights, modern art on white walls, people in clothes that probably cost more than I made in six months.
I grabbed a tray from the bar, my hands still trembling slightly, and tried to disappear into the background. That was my specialty being invisible, unnoticed, unremarkable.
For the first hour, it worked. I moved between guests like a shadow, refilling drinks, clearing empty plates, avoiding eye contact. I was actually starting to think I might survive this.
Then I felt someone watching me.
The sensation was so strong I almost dropped my tray. When I finally gathered the courage to look up, I found him.
