Rose stood in front of a shop with a faded metal sign that read D25. The letters were half-rusted, and one of the screws at the corner was missing. He double-checked the address on his phone again, squinting at the cracked screen.
"This should be it," he muttered, tilting his head a little.
It didn't look like any cleaning company he had imagined. There were no vans, no uniforms, no buckets or mops leaning by the door. The place looked quiet, almost abandoned. Across the street, a bar with a bright red sign that said The Good Bar stood out like a sore thumb. The windows were dark, but Rose could almost picture it later at night, loud music, laughter, the smell of beer floating through the street.
He looked back at D25. The door was slightly scratched, and a thin film of dust covered the window.
He swallowed and adjusted his bag strap. "Alright… here goes nothing."
Taking a slow breath, he reached for the handle and pushed the door open.
The small bell above it jingled softly, like the sound of a secret being told.
Inside, the room was nearly empty. A single table stood in the center with an old-fashioned telephone resting on top. The walls were pale, peeling in places. The air smelled faintly of lemon polish and something else, something metallic, like the aftertaste of blood or rust.
Rose hesitated near the doorway. "Hello?" His voice came out quieter than he expected.
No answer.
He looked around again, eyes landing on a couch by the corner. Someone was lying there, face covered with a cloth. The steady rise and fall of their chest told him they were asleep.
Rose frowned. "Is this even the right place?"
He glanced back toward the door, half ready to leave. "Maybe I should call Monkey…"
He pulled out his phone, but before he could tap the screen, a calm voice came from the back room.
"Welcome."
Rose froze.
A woman stepped into the light.
She had long red braids that shimmered like fire, catching the weak glow of the overhead bulb. Her eyes were deep and calm, the kind that saw more than you wanted them to. She wore a black fitted outfit that clung perfectly to her shape, sharp and elegant.
Rose's throat went dry.
For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. His fingers loosened, and the phone slipped from his hand, clattering softly against the wooden floor.
She walked closer, each step unhurried and graceful. Rose could hear the faint rhythm of her heels, the whisper of her clothes brushing as she moved.
His chest tightened. "She's… beautiful," he breathed without realizing it.
Thud. Thud. Thud. His heart pounded so loud it almost drowned out the sound of her footsteps.
The woman stopped in front of him, bent down, and picked up his phone. She handed it to him with a smile that could melt ice.
"Your phone, Mr. Rose Flower."
He blinked, startled. "You know my name, beautiful angel?"
Her lips curved slightly. "Of course. You're here for a job, right?"
Rose nodded quickly, still staring at her like someone in a dream.
"I'm Bianca Diablo," she said. "I'm in charge here. I'll be showing you around and explaining your job details."
Bianca Diablo. Even her name sounded dangerous and sweet at the same time.
Rose swallowed again, forcing a shaky smile. "If this is what cleaning looks like, maybe I've been the wrong career all my life."
"Mr. Flower?" Bianca's voice snapped him back to reality. She was watching him with a raised brow. "Are you alright? Do you need anything?"
"Yes," Rose said before thinking. "The need right now is to kiss you, beautiful angel."
Bianca chuckled softly. "Bianca," she corrected. "Just call me Bianca."
Then she turned around, her braids swaying behind her like a slow flame. "Come on. Let me show you around."
Rose followed, grinning like a fool. He didn't even try to hide it. His mind was a storm of wild thoughts, admiration, disbelief, and a pinch of hope.
If all jobs started like this, maybe life wasn't so bad after all.
Bianca walked ahead, pointing at different spots as she talked. "That's the storage room. You'll find all the supplies there. The equipment room is behind that door. We usually keep the more… delicate tools there."
Rose barely heard her. He was too focused on her voice. It flowed like music, smooth and careful. His gaze followed her every move, the way she turned her head, the light bounce in her steps, the way her hair caught the air each time she stopped.
He nodded at all the right moments, pretending to understand, but not a single word entered his brain.
After a while, they returned to the center of the shop. Bianca sat down beside table and pulled open a drawer. She took out a few sheets of paper clipped together and placed them neatly on the table.
"Here," she said. "This is your contract. Once you sign, you're officially part of the team."
Rose leaned over and skimmed the first line, but he didn't really read it. His hand reached for the pen as if pulled by instinct.
Bianca looked at him curiously. "You're not going to read it?"
He smiled with the confidence of a man who had already lost the game. "I'll sign anything you give me, Miss Bianca. Even if I'm signing away my destiny, I'll do it gladly... as long as you're mine boss."
Bianca's lips curved again, but this time her smile carried a quiet amusement. "Mrs," she corrected gently.
Rose froze halfway through his grin. "Ehn?"
"Mrs. Bianca," she said, voice smooth as ever.
The word hit him like a punch in the chest.
"Wait… Mrs means you're married, right?"
"Yes," she said simply, rising to her feet.
Before Rose could figure out what emotion to feel, Bianca walked toward the couch. The person lying there was still asleep, face hidden under the cloth. Bianca leaned down, brushing her fingers gently along their arm.
"Hey babe," she said softly. "Wake up. Your friend is here."
Rose blinked, his heart doing weird flips. Friend?
The person groaned and stretched lazily. "He's already here, baby? Did he sign the contract?" The voice was lazy but sharp, too familiar.
Rose stiffened. That voice, no way.
The cloth slid off the person's face, and Bianca leaned down to kiss him.
Rose's eyes widened.
The man grinned sleepily, turning his head toward Rose.
"Long time, brother."
Rose's jaw dropped.
Bianca smiled, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Yes, babe, he did. You were right. Your friend's weakness really is women."
Rose stood frozen, staring at the two of them as his brain slowly pieced everything together.
Bianca turned to him again with that same playful smile. "Welcome to the Devilish Cleaning Service, Rose Flower."
Before he could say a word, the old telephone on the table started to ring. The sharp sound echoed through the quiet room, slicing through the air like a warning.
Bianca lifted the receiver and pressed it to her ear. Her tone shifted, calm but serious. "Looks like we got a cleaning job," she said.
Rose had no idea what kind of cleaning they were talking about.
But he was about to find out.