The Billionaire's Runaway Nurse

5

I awoke to a ceiling blanketed in dust. So it wasn't a dream after all.

"Do you think this is your father's house?" a voice, now becoming too familiar, interrupted the silence. I sat up abruptly, startled. He stood in the doorway, his presence heavy and stifling, as if he owned the air I breathed.

"Come upstairs in fifteen minutes." His tone wasn’t a request; it was an order. Before I could gather my thoughts, he turned to leave.

"Bryan!" I blurted out, barely managing to suppress a sneeze. The dust was stifling, clawing at my throat and filling my lungs.

He froze in the doorway, his body rigid with surprise. Slowly, he turned, his face an unreadable mask. Did I say something wrong? Am I not allowed to even speak?

"What did you just call me?" His arms crossed over his chest, the stance full of disapproval, his gaze sharp and searching. I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach, like I’d just committed some unspoken crime.

"Uh... Bryan?" I stammered, already regretting the word. I could see his impatience simmering just below the surface. With a single raised finger, he silenced me.

"Do you think you have the right to call me by my name?" he asked, each word dripping with a cold arrogance. I lowered my gaze to the floor, feeling the weight of his disdain. Of course, I shouldn’t have. Mrs. Green had called him by his name yesterday, but I was a fool to think that the same rules applied to me. I wasn’t a guest here. I wasn’t even a proper servant. I was a possession—something he had bought.

A stupid mistake.

"Let’s see…" he mused, his voice mocking as he rubbed his chin, pretending to think. "What should I make you call me?" He paused for effect, and I could feel the corners of his lips curl upward. "Oh, I know! How about you call me 'Bidder'? That way, you’ll never forget that I bought you." He said it with such relish, as though he had invented something brilliant.

His smirk made my stomach churn. As if I could ever forget. As if the thought of being auctioned off like livestock could ever leave my mind. Seventy million. That's the price he paid for me, and no matter how hard I tried, that figure hung over me like a shadow. I’d never forget it.

"What?" His voice snapped me back to the present. He was growing impatient, waiting for my reaction, my compliance.

I blinked up at him, confused, unsure of what he expected me to say. Did he want praise for his cleverness? Did he want me to grovel, to call him "Bidder" with reverence?

"Didn't you want to say something?" His irritation was palpable.

Oh. Right. "I wanted to clean this room before I came upstairs," I said, my eyes darting around the space. Dust clung to every surface, suffocating the air. It made my throat itch, and my skin crawl. There was no way I could live in this place. Already, I’d torn a strip of fabric from the hem of my dress and tied it around my face as a makeshift mask, but I couldn’t keep doing that forever. Sleeping in this filth, breathing in this filth—it would kill me.

But instead of understanding, he laughed. A deep, condescending sound that echoed off the walls.

"Who said you could clean it?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with malice. "This place suits you." He gestured to the room with a lazy sweep of his arm. "A filth in filth," he added, smirking at his own cruelty.

His words stung. They pierced through the thin armor I’d built to protect myself, and I had to look down to hide the hurt. It wasn't fair—none of this was. I wasn’t filth. I hadn’t done anything to deserve this. But I wouldn't cry. I wouldn’t let him see how much his words affected me. I had to be strong. I had to survive this place, learn its secrets, and find a way to escape. There had to be a way out.

"Fifteen minutes," he reminded me coldly before leaving.

I stared at the door for a long moment after he was gone, my mind spinning with plans, with escape routes. I had to be careful. I had to play the part of the obedient servant until I knew this place well enough to make my move. I would get away. I had to. I couldn’t stay here.

"There you are!" Mrs. Green’s voice startled me as I reached the top of the stairs. She had been waiting for me, her sharp eyes watching every move I made. "Come," she said briskly, not wasting time on pleasantries. "I'll show you what you need to do."

I followed her down the long hallway, my eyes darting around, taking in every detail of my surroundings. Each door, each window, each possible exit. I had to memorize it all.

"You’ll be washing these clothes," she said, pointing to a towering pile of laundry. "By hand."

I swallowed hard. My fingers already ached at the thought of scrubbing each piece of clothing. But there was no point in arguing. I nodded, keeping my face expressionless as she turned to leave.

It was clear Mrs. Green didn’t like me. Not that it mattered. I was used to people not liking me. I had spent my whole life walking a fine line, trying to be invisible, trying not to anger my father. The only thing that mattered to him was money. Friends were a distraction. Love was a threat. I had learned long ago that it was safer to keep my distance from people. It was safer to be alone.

Still, my mind drifted back to the days before we were rich, when life was simpler. When we lived in a tiny, cramped apartment, but we were happy. Before everything changed. Before Mom...

I shook my head, blinking away the tears that had gathered in my eyes. I couldn’t afford to think about that now. Not here. Not in this place. I had to focus on getting out, on surviving long enough to find Liam. Once he graduated, we could leave. We could start over somewhere else. I just had to hold on until then.

With a sigh, I turned back to the pile of clothes. I needed to start if I wanted to finish before breakfast.

"I still can’t believe it," a voice whispered from the doorway. I looked up, realizing two girls had stopped outside the laundry room, gossiping in hushed tones.

"I’m telling you, there’s a new maid," one of them said.

"But she didn’t come to the servants' quarters," the other replied, confusion lacing her voice.

"She lives in the basement," the first girl explained, her tone scandalized. "I saw Mrs. Green waiting for her, and she came from the basement. It’s disgusting down there! Hasn’t been cleaned in months."

They both shuddered at the thought, and I felt a pang of bitterness rise in my chest. They spoke about me as if I wasn’t even a person, just a curiosity. A topic for their idle chatter.

"Is she pretty?" one of the girls asked, her voice dripping with jealousy.

"Yeah, prettier than Cara," the other one admitted, though it sounded like it hurt her to say it. "But don’t worry. Mr. Miller won’t fall for her."

Mr. Miller. So that was Bryan’s last name. Of course, they were all infatuated with him. How could they not be? Wealth, power—it was enough to blind anyone to his cruelty.

"Don’t you remember what happened to Rose?" one of the girls reminded the other. "She tried to seduce him, and he kicked her out."

They both giggled at that, and I turned away, focusing on the laundry. I didn’t care what they thought. I didn’t care about their gossip or their opinions. All I cared about was getting out of here.

"Are you done?" Mrs. Green's sharp voice broke the quiet.

"Not yet," I replied, scrubbing at the fabric in my hands.

"Try to hurry. You’ll need to eat before starting the rest of your chores," she said before turning to leave.

I nodded, though she didn’t see it. My stomach growled at the mention of food, but I pushed the hunger away. There was still too much work to do.

“What is that filth doing?" Bryan's voice grated on my nerves, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

"Bryan!" Mrs. Green scolded. "Do you need something?"

He gave her a dismissive wave. "I just came to check if she’s doing her job."

They spoke so casually, so familiarly with each other. It was strange, almost like they weren’t master and servant at all, but something closer—something familial.

Mrs. Green hesitated. "Her name is Mia, isn’t it?"

"I prefer calling her filth," he replied coldly.

She didn’t argue, but her silence spoke volumes. Maybe she had tried to change his mind before, but she knew better now.

I continued scrubbing, trying to ignore them both, but then I heard a sound that made my blood run cold.

Click. Click.

I looked up sharply. He was taking pictures of me. Of me scrubbing his clothes.

I glared at him, my body trembling with a mix of anger and humiliation.

“What?” he said, as though my reaction was completely unwarranted. “Keep working.”

I bit my lip to keep from saying something I’d regret, but my mind raced with thoughts of rebellion, of throwing the wet laundry in his face. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

He waved his phone in the air, grinning like a child with a new toy. "Now, I’ll send these to your father. Let’s see what he thinks of his precious daughter now."

Without waiting for a response, he sauntered out of the room, Mrs. Green trailing behind him.

The moment they were gone, I let out a shaky breath. Should I seduce him? Would he kick me out like he had with Rose? No. That wouldn’t work. He wasn’t interested in me like that—he just wanted to humiliate me. He wanted to make me feel small.

But I wouldn’t let him. I had to be strong. I had to survive—for Liam. For us both.