Married To The Wrong Cole

Chapter Two: Nothing Left

Mia's POV

The hostel bed creaked as I dropped onto it and stared at the cracked ceiling.

One squeaky bed, a broken chair. My suitcase shoved against the wall.

A few days ago, I had a fiancé, a wedding date, and a plan. Now I had $100 and nowhere to go. The hostel wanted its next payment in four days.

My phone buzzed.

Another rejection.

We regret to inform you...

I didn't bother reading the rest.

Hotel Ricardo wouldn't give me a reference, and without one, nobody would touch me. I had spent three years covering shifts for people who couldn't be bothered to show up, staying late when someone called in sick, and doing whatever needed to be done.

One bad month was all they remembered.

One month of mixing up orders and crying in the storage room until they finally let me go.

"What exactly do you people want from me?"

I threw the phone onto the blanket.

It buzzed again.

Instagram.

Sofia.

A photo of her and Ethan at a restaurant. He was feeding her shrimp, and she was smiling like she'd won something.

I locked the screen before I could look any longer.

Mom had sent exactly one message since I left.

One word. Friday.

No are you okay? Or Where are you sleeping?

Just Friday.

I stared at it until the letters blurred, then turned the phone face down, like that would make the date go away.

The envelope I'd taken out of that bedroom, the one that was supposed to pay for my wedding, had gone straight to my father's debt. It barely covered half of what was due.

I still had no idea where the rest would come from.

My stomach growled.

I opened a delivery app, scrolled through the restaurants, looked at the prices, and closed it again.

"Not today."

I poured myself a glass of water instead.

I told myself it was fine. I'd gone without things before. I'd figure this out too.

That was the thing about being the reliable one. Everyone assumed you'd find a way.

I lay down and pulled the thin blanket over me.

Tomorrow.

I'll find something tomorrow. Anything.

My phone buzzed again.

I almost ignored it. Then I saw the subject line.

HOUSEKEEPING POSITION: APPLICATION FOLLOW-UP

I frowned and opened it.

I had forgotten I'd even applied.

Aldridge Hill. Live-in housekeeper. Immediate start. Accommodation and meals provided.

Then I saw the salary, and I sat straight up.

I read it twice. Then for the third time.

The pay was far above anything I'd seen for housekeeping.

"No way. No freaking way."

There had to be a catch.

Maybe the house was enormous. Maybe they expected me to scrub twenty bathrooms a day.

At that point, I didn't care.

They could give me a bed, food and enough money to breathe for a while.

I looked at my balance one more time and replied before I could talk myself out of it.

***************

Two days later, I stood outside Aldridge Hill in the drizzle, my suitcase beside me.

The house looked like something out of an old movie. Dark windows, tall walls, and absolutely no sign that anyone actually lived there.

Like a vampire's billionaire home.

I shivered. Do people even live here?

"Okay, Mia. This is it."

I dragged my suitcase toward the entrance.

The front door opened before I reached it.

A woman stood there, tall and thin, in a black dress. Her eyes moved over me from head to toe, over my soaked clothes and my battered suitcase, and I felt every inch of it.

"You're Mia."

"Yes."

"I'm Greta." She stepped aside. "Come in."

The moment I stepped inside, I rubbed my arms. It was colder than it had been outside.

The foyer was all marble and dark wood, with a staircase wide enough to park a car on. Every surface gleamed. Nothing looked touched.

I could even hear my own shoes against the marble.

It smelled of lemon polish and something else like medicine.

Greta handed me a folded sheet of paper.

"The rules."

There were twelve of them.No visitors. No parties. No leaving the property after ten. No touching the family's belongings.

I stared at the list.

What kind of family needed twelve rules for a housekeeper?

Whatever. It wasn't my business. I needed the job.

Then I stopped on one.

Rule 7. NEVER ENTER THE EAST WING.

I looked up.

"Why?"

"You don't need to know."

"Okay..."

She pulled a folded black uniform from a nearby chair and held it out.

"Yours."

I held it against myself and knew immediately.

A size twelve.

I hadn't been a twelve since high school.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. She hadn't asked my size, and I didn't offered it either. In my experience, nobody ever did.

I'd survive one uncomfortable uniform.

Greta was already walking.

I hurried after her.

"Who exactly am I cleaning for?"

She stopped so suddenly I almost walked into her.

"You'll learn soon enough."

That was not comforting.

She started up the stairs, and I followed, still holding the rules in my hand.

Halfway up, I heard a soft ominous creak behind us.

I spun around. The hallway was empty.

"Did you hear that?"

Greta didn't even turn.

"No."

"But I..."

"You're tired from the journey."

The creak came again, softer this time. I could have sworn it came from somewhere above us, in the direction we weren't going.

I wasn't tired. I wasn't imagining it.

But I kept my mouth shut and followed her.

At the top of the stairs, she finally stopped.

For the first time since I'd arrived, her stern mask slipped, and something like fear flickered underneath.

"One more thing," she said quietly.

My throat tightened.

"What?"

Her eyes flicked toward the dark hallway behind us. When she spoke again, her voice was barely a breath.

"Whatever you hear here, pretend you didn't.”