His For Hire

Chapter 4

The house was too quiet.

Sheila folded another dress, her hands moving on instinct while her heart thundered beneath her ribs. Her suitcase sat half-full on the bed, a pathetic mix of worn clothes and old memories.

Nothing about this felt real.

Yet here she was, packing to leave her home—if it could ever be called that—and stepping into a stranger’s life. A stranger who had bought her.

She sniffed, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. There was no room for crying anymore. She’d already wasted enough of herself on this house, on Dale, on everything she was about to leave behind.

But just as she reached for another blouse, she heard the creak of the front door. Her stomach dropped. Footsteps shuffled down the hallway, slow and deliberate. Heavy.

She stiffened when she heard the rough voice that followed—one that made her skin crawl.

“Well, well… packing already, are we?”She froze, dread pooling in her stomach.

It was Dale’s father. Lewis Lane. Sheila’s hands tightened around the blouse, willing herself not to tremble as he stepped into the room, uninvited as always.

His presence carried that same foul scent of sweat and stale beer, his leering eyes dragging over her with slow, sick amusement.

He leaned against the doorway, his grin widening.“You must be real proud of yourself,” he drawled, crossing his arms.

“Finally found a way to make yourself useful.”She didn’t answer. He liked that.

“You know,” he went on, his voice thick with mockery, “I told Dale from the start… that mouth of yours wasn’t good for much except crying. Funny how it finally made you some money.”Her stomach turned violently.

Lewis pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer. Too close. It wasn't new. She had spoken up before but was shut up by Dale.

“I gotta admit though,” he said, his gaze raking over her body, “I never pegged you as the high-class type. But I guess every woman’s got her price, huh?”Her throat tightened, but she refused to look away.

“Don’t worry,” he smirked. “You’ll fit right in over there. Rich men like broken toys.”Still, she didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She kept folding, her hands trembling.

Lewis chuckled darkly at her silence, then leaned down, his voice a breath against her ear."Just remember,” he whispered, his tone dripping with poison,

“No matter how high you climb, you’ll always be the little girl who begged in this house."Sheila’s heart pounded in her chest, but she stayed still—cold, silent, unmovable.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Not this time.

Finally, Lewis straightened, laughing to himself as he sauntered out of the room.“Don’t forget your toothbrush,” he called over his shoulder, smugness oozing from every word.

“Wouldn’t want your new husband to smell the filth you’re leaving behind.”The door slammed shut behind him.

Sheila’s breath finally escaped in a shuddering gasp. Her hands balled into fists. She hated them. Dale. Lewis. Every man who had ever looked at her and seen nothing but something to break.

But this was the last time she’d pack her things under this roof. She wiped her tears, her face hardening as she zipped the suitcase shut.

Enough.

The car arrived later that afternoon. It wasn’t just any car. It was sleek, black, and too polished for the dusty street it now waited on.

Lance’s driver stood by the door, stone-faced and silent, ready to escort her into a life she had no say in.

Sheila glanced back once—just once—at the house. Dale wasn’t home. Lewis was probably drunk somewhere, bragging about his son’s new fortune. Good. Without another word, she lifted her suitcase and walked out, her head held high.

She would leave this place in silence. And she would not be coming back until six months had passed.

Ace Empire’s main estate wasn’t a home. It was a fortress.The mansion loomed in front of her, all glass and cold steel, surrounded by high walls and guarded gates.

Everything about it screamed power and danger—just like the man who owned it.

The driver led her inside without a word, his footsteps echoing alongside hers across the marble floor

.Inside, the world was silent. No laughter, no warmth. Just space, glass, and money. Sheila’s breath caught in her throat as she took it in. She didn’t belong here. Her worn out heels clicked softly as she followed the driver through the main hall, every step taking her deeper into unfamiliar territory.

They stopped in front of a set of double doors—tall, dark, and imposing. Without knocking, the driver pushed them open.

Lance Jonas was waiting inside. He didn’t rise from behind his massive desk. He simply looked up, his icy eyes sweeping over her with the same detached calculation as before.

“You’re late,” he said simply. Sheila’s voice caught, but she forced it out. “I—”

“I don’t care,” he cut her off, his tone sharp enough to slice through her words.

“You’re here now. That’s what matters.”She stiffened, but nodded, clutching the handle of her suitcase until her knuckles whitened.

He stood slowly, every movement deliberate, controlled.

“Follow me.”She obeyed, following him out of the office and down another hallway—this one lined with expensive art she couldn’t name.They stopped at another door.

“This is your room,” he said, pushing it open.It was… stunning. Spacious. Pristine. Walls of soft cream, gold accents, and a massive window overlooking the city below.

But it wasn’t the beauty of the room that made her heart race. It was the fact that it wasn’t a prison. At least… not yet.

“You’ll be staying here until further notice,” Lance continued, his voice emotionless.

“You’ll follow the schedule my staff provides. Appearances are everything in this arrangement, and you will not embarrass me.”Sheila’s throat tightened, but she nodded again, her words trapped somewhere between fear and defiance.

“Someone will be by shortly to brief you,” he added, already turning to leave. “Unpack.”

He was halfway out the door when he paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“Oh. And one more thing.”She looked up, startled.“You’d be wise to remember…” His eyes darkened, cold and merciless. “In this house, loyalty isn’t requested. It’s demanded.”The door shut behind him with a soft click. Sheila let out a shaky breath.

Her hands moved on instinct again, unpacking clothes she wasn’t sure she’d ever wear. Every breath felt tight in her chest, every movement foreign.

She was here.This was her life now.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. She opened the door slowly, expecting another staff member.

Instead, she came face-to-face with a woman.Tall, slender, and poised with a sharpness that wasn’t entirely friendly.

Her dark hair was pinned back in a flawless twist, her makeup immaculate but cold. She wore a black skirt suit that fit like armor, and her heels clicked softly as she stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

“You must be the wife,” the woman said, her tone dripping with cool condescension.

Sheila nodded, unsure whether to speak.

“I’m Freda,” she continued, offering a tight, insincere smile. “Mr. Jonas’s personal assistant. You’ll be seeing a lot of me.”Sheila’s stomach tightened, but she forced herself to smile politely.

Freda’s eyes swept over her, slowly, as if assessing every inch of her.

“I’ll be overseeing your schedule,” Freda said crisply. “We’ll begin training tomorrow. You’ll be expected to learn quickly.”Sheila nodded again, words failing her under Freda’s icy stare.

For a moment, Freda’s gaze softened—just barely.“You look overwhelmed,” she remarked, almost amused.

“Don’t worry. Most women are when they first enter Mr. Jonas’s world.”There was an unspoken but in the air.

Sheila straightened her spine, lifting her chin slightly.

“I’ll manage,” she said quietly, but firmly. Freda’s eyes narrowed, her smile sharpening.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” she said smoothly, though her tone carried something harder underneath—an edge Sheila couldn’t quite name.

Without another word, Freda turned and left, the click of her heels fading down the hallway. Sheila stood alone, her heart still pounding. She didn’t need anyone to tell her what she already felt in her bones.

This wasn’t just a house. It was a battlefield. And she was already at war.