Chapter Four

Esmé’s POV

The roar of his voice still rang in my ears, a violent sound that seemed to vibrate the very air around me. I stood frozen on the top step, my fingers numb as they white—knuckled the handle of my bag.

I didn’t understand. My mind racer to spiraling circle of overthinking.

What did I do? Is it my clothes? I glanced down at the modest, charcoal-grey coat and the sensible boots I’d polished until they shone. Is it my hair? I’d spent forty minutes pinning it into a neat, professional bun so not single strand would be out of place. I had followed every instruction in the email. I was one minute early. I had my ID ready.

“Mr. De La Fontaine, please,” I started, my voice sounding thin and watery compared to his thunder. “If I have offended you, I can—“

“I said get out!”

He didn’t even look at me. He was still hauled up in the face of the man who had brought me here, his knuckles white against the man’s coat.

“Sir, wait,” Luka, stammered, his face pale as sheet. “She is the only candidate who—“

“I don’t care if she’s the only woman on earth!” The billionaire hissed. He finally turned his gaze toward me, and the look in his eyes made my breath hitch. It wasn’t just anger. It was pain. Deep, agonizing pain that he was turning into a weapon.

I took a shaky step back, nearly tripping over the threshold. I wanted to explain that I needed this job. I wanted to tell him that I had traveled across city with my life packed into a single bag because this was my last chance. I wanted to ask him why he looked at me like I was a monster when I hadn’t even said hello.

But the words died in my throat. Every time I tried to speak, his expression grew darker, more lethal.

“One,” he began, his voice dropping to low, terrifying crawl.

My heart hammered against my ribs. He was counting.

“Mr. De La Fontaine, if you would just let me—“

“Two.”

“Esmé, move,” Luka whispered urgently, reaching out a hand to usher me back toward the driveway. He looked terrified for both of us.

“Three.”

I looked past the man in the front door, into the shadows of the massive, cold foyer. For a split second, I thought I saw two small faces peeking through the banisters of the grand staircase.

“I……I am sorry,” I whispered, though I had no idea what I was apologizing for.

I turned and fled. I didn’t wait for “four.” I stumbled down the stone step. I didn’t stop until I reached the sedan Luka had driven me in, my chest heaving as I tried to make sense of the wreckage of the last sixty seconds.

I had been here for one minute. I hadn’t even stepped onto the carpet. And I had already been cast as the villain in a story I didn’t understand.

Luka slid into the driver’s seat a moment later, his hands shaking as he gripped the steering wheel. He didn’t start the car immediately. He just leaned his forehead against the leather, taking a long jagged breath.

“I am sorry, Esmé,” he whispered, finally turning to look at me. His eyes were full of weary kind of guilt. “Mr. De La Fontaine…….he is going through a very hard time. Losing his wife has…..it changed him. He isn’t himself.”

I wiped a hot frustrated tear from my cheek, my heart still thudding like a trapped bird. “That doesn’t mean he should take it out on me. I haven’t done anything but show up for work.”

Luka gave a sad, dry laugh. “It’s not just you. It’s everyone. Every employee, every board member……everyone is facing the brunt of it.”

He finally turned the key, and the engine hummed to life. It felt like the sound of my future being shut down.

“I’ll make sure you are compensated for the stress,” Luka said, shifting the car into reverse. “Again, I am so sorry. I hope you find another job quickly. You have an incredible resume.”

Another job.

I stared out the window as the massive iron gates of the estate began to close locking me out of the palace that was supposed to be my sanctuary. I scoffed under my breath, the sound bitter and sharp.

Another job? He said it like it was as easy as picking up a newspaper.

I had spent four months looking for this. Four months of watching my savings drain to nothing, of skipping meals to pay for bus fare to interviews, of lying to my landlord about “upcoming contracts.” I had pinned everything on this. I had spent my last few dollars on dry cleaning for this coat and the polish for this boots.

And in sixty seconds, a man who didn’t even know my last name had crushed it because he was having a “hard time.”

I looked at my reflection in the window pale, shaking, and utterly defeated. I had been so careful. I had been perfect and it hadn’t mattered.

“I don’t have four more months, Luka,” I whispered, but he didn’t hear me over the sound of the gravel crunching under the tires.

Luka eased the car into gear, the tires crunching over the gravel as the distance between me and the mansion grew. I closed my eyes, trying to swallow the lump of failure in my throat.

Then a frantic pounding hit the rear window.

“Luka, stop!” I gasped.

Through the glass, a small, blurred figure sprinted down the drive, blonde hair flying wildly. It was one of the twins. She was barefoot, her pajamas fluttering in the wind as she chased the car with a desperation that shattered the morning silence.

“Mommy!” She wailed, her voice cracking. “Mommy, don’t leave! Mommy come back!!”