Sarah's heart raced as she replayed the moment Victor apologized to her at the mall. His warm smile and charming demeanor had swept her off her feet even though he was being mean to her at first, and when he asked for her contact, she felt a rush of excitement. It was all so easy: just so she thought.
But now, two weeks had passed without a word from him, and the fantasy she had built around their brief encounter was crumbling.
Mrs. Mara had been relentless in her inquiries about Victor. Sarah had spun a web of lies, claiming they had exchanged numbers, but in reality, she had only given him hers. The pressure was mounting, and she felt trapped in her own deceit.
As she sat on her bed, contemplating her next move, her phone rang. It was Mrs. Mara. Sarah hesitated, her stomach churning before finally answering.
"What are you still doing? It's been over two weeks now, and I haven't heard a thing from you," Mrs. Mara's voice was sharp, cutting through Sarah's thoughts.
"I'm sorry, but he hasn't called yet," Sarah replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Then call him!" Mrs. Mara snapped.
"I can't!" Sarah blurted out, panic rising in her chest.
"And why can't you?" Mrs. Mara pressed.
"I didn't get his contact," Sarah confessed, her words tumbling out in a stammer.
"You are joking! You had just one job to do, and you can't even do it properly!" Mrs. Mara's frustration was palpable.
"I'm sorry, I-----" Sarah struggled to find the right words, but they eluded her.
"We'll go with plan B then, you'll need to take on the role as his personal maid," Mrs. Mara declared, her tone leaving no room for argument.
"But what about my job?" Sarah protested weakly.
"How much are you being paid in that measly bar you work?" Mrs. Mara shot back before abruptly ending the call.
As Sarah stared at her phone, dread washed over her. She had never imagined her life would take such a turn, but now she was faced with a choice; embrace the chaos or let it consume her.
Sarah stared at the enormous iron gates in front of her, her heart pounding like a warning bell. The Smith estates looked more like a fortress than a home, tall hedges, flawless architecture, the kind of cold beauty that made you feel small just standing there.
A guard opened the gate without a word, clearly expecting her. She stepped through, clutching her tote bag tightly, trying to remember was she was doing what she was doing.
Then her brother's face flashed in her mind, pale, tired, but still smiling. He had to live. Even if it meant selling her pride piece by piece.
Inside the mansion was a world apart. Everything was marble, silver, and silence. A maid led her down a long hallway and stopped at a heavy oak door.
"He's inside," the maid said, "But----- Don't take it personally if he doesn't speak."
Sarah nodded, suddenly nervous. She pushed the door open.
Victor smith stood by the window, back turned, his posture tense, like he was always ready to fight or run. Sunlight poured in, catching the side of his face- sharp jawline, tousled hair, and eyes that flicked towards her like he'd already decided not to care.
"You must be the charity case," he said dryly.
Sarah stiffened. "You must be the emotionally unstable rich boy I was warned about."
A flicker of surprise crossed his face. Then, a smirk. "Touché".
Silence stretched between them, heavy and sharp.
Victor with his tousled hair and piercing charcoal-grey eyes, finally turned fully. His eyes-dark, distant, and wounded- locked into hers, like he was searching for something.
"You! You are the cry girl from the mall? Wow!" he chuckled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He paused, his gaze narrowing. "Have you been stalking me?"
Sarah felt embarrassed by his statement, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she snapped back, "I am not a cry girl!"
Victor raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of skepticism and amusement. "Oh, I see. And why are you here?"
The words hung in the air, heavy with accusation, as Sarah felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She didn't want to admit that her actions could be perceived as stalking, but the truth was undeniable.
"Hey, I'm not a stalker!" she blurted out, her voice rising defensively.
Victor leaned back, crossing his arms, his gaze piercing. "Then why are you here?"
"I'm here as your maid!" she exclaimed, her heart racing. "You and I meeting at the mall was just a mere coincidence!"
He scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive. "And you expect me to believe that? Oh, cut the bullshit. I know you are here on a mission." His voice turned tense, the air thickening with unspoken tension.
Frustration bubbled with Sarah, and she felt trapped, unsure of how to defend herself.
"You don't have to pretend," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "Whatever game it is you and my stepmother are playing, I'm not interested."
"Look, you can -------" Before she could finish, Victor interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "How much?"
"Excuse me?" Sarah asked, confusion clouding her mind.
"How much did she offer to give you?" he pressed again, his tone sharp.
"How much did who offer to give me?" she repeated, her heart pounding in her chest.
Victor's expression hardened. "You want to play games here, huh? I know you're here because she offered to give you money. You're not the first, and it didn't end well for them."
A mix of anger, fear and frustration surged through Sarah. "I don't care what you think this is! But I'm telling you for a fact that I'm here just to do my job – only as a maid ----- your personal ---- maid, actually!" she defended, her voice trembling slightly.
"Okay, let's see how that goes for you then," he taunted, a smirk playing on his lips.
Sarah forced a smile, though her chest ached with the weight of his words. "Then it should be easy for the both of us," she replied, trying to sound confident.
Yet, something in her eyes made Victor pause. She wasn't like the others; she didn't flinch at his sharpness. There was a fire in her gaze, a determination that intrigued him.