Chapter 3
541 Words
Aria's POV
I thought surviving yesterday’s party would be the hardest thing I’d ever have to do at this hotel. But as I clocked in for my regular shift, I saw my manager waiting with his clipboard, eyes sharp and calculating.
“Aria,” he said, his tone clipped. The boss requested you. You’re serving at the penthouse party again tonight.
I froze. “He… requested me?”
His gaze narrowed. “Yes.” No one else will do. Get ready.”
No one else will do.
The words sank into me like stones in water. My stomach twisted, confusion battling with dread. Why me? He could have anyone. Why had he noticed me just a housekeeper filling in, practically invisible?
Still, I nodded. What else could I do?
In the staff changing room, the uniform waited again. Short black skirt, low-cut white top, more revealing than anything I’d ever worn. My fingers shook as I pulled it on. I caught my reflection in the mirror wide brown eyes, hair scraped back in a ponytail, lips pressed tight. I looked like someone trying to play a role I didn’t belong in.
"Just get through tonight," I told myself. Survive it. Then maybe it’ll all go back to normal.
But deep down, I knew better.
The penthouse was buzzing again. Laughter, glasses clinking, music vibrating through the air. Guests draped in designer clothes filled the space, sparkling like they’d stepped off the pages of a magazine. I slipped through them like a shadow, carrying drinks, clearing plates, focusing on staying small.
That had always been my strategy stay invisible, unnoticed, unremarkable. It’s how I kept jobs, how I paid rent, how I survived. No attention meant no risk.
But tonight, it didn’t work. Because I could feel his eyes on me.
Adrian Voss.
Every time I turned, it was like he was there, gray eyes tracking me across the room. Talking to his guests, yet never letting me slip from his attention. It made my chest tight, my pulse race, my skin prickle.
I told myself not to look back. Not to notice. But I did. Every time.
By the time the last of the guests trickled out, my feet ached, and my tray felt like lead. Relief started to creep in until I realized he was still there.
Leaning against the couch, jacket undone, tie loosened, watching me.
My breath caught.
“Aria,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. The way he spoke my name made it sound different, sharper, more dangerous. “Want something to drink?”
“I… I don’t drink,” I murmured, gripping the rag in my hand tighter.
His brows lifted slightly, as if amused. He poured something amber and smooth into a glass, pressed it into my hand anyway. “Just try it.”
I hesitated, then took the smallest sip. The burn slid down my throat, making me cough. His lips curved, half smirk, half something else as he watched.
Then he sat on the couch, tilting his head. “Sit.”
It wasn’t a request.
My legs felt like water as I sank onto the cushion beside him. The air between us shifted, charged. His cologne, dark and rich, wrapped around me.
- Writer
