Mira

The address led me to a gate. Not a door. A literal gate. With a speaker box thingy that made me feel like I was in a spy movie.

I pressed the button.

"Yeah?" My voice cracked. Great start.

"Name?" A woman's voice. Extremely polished.

"Annie Thompson. For the house-sitting interview?"

Buzz. The gate swung open.

I walked up a driveway that took approximately forty-seven years to navigate. Gardens on both sides. Actual gardens. With flowers, real expensive flowers.

The house at the end? Was a Mansion. there was no other word to describe it's White and modern walls and so big it probably had its own zip code.

I tugged at Sasha's blazer. it cigarette smell clung to my camisole. Great. I probably looked like I rolled out of an ashtray and into paradise.

I knocked.

A woman opened the door.

Asian. Gorgeous. Tiny waist. Perfect hair. Wearing an expensive and cream-colored gown She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes.

"You must be Annie." She looked me up and down. The look that takes inventory and finds everything wanting. "I'm Mira. Mr. Hale's fiancée."

My brain short-circuited.

Fiancée.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "I—hi. Yes. Annie. That's me."

She stepped aside. "Shoes off before you enter. The floors were just waxed."

Right. Shoes. I scrambled to unlace my boots, nearly falling over in the process. My socks had a hole in them. Of course they did. Of course the universe wanted me to stand in a billionaire's mansion with my big toe peeking out like a tiny pink spectator.

Mira noticed. Her eyebrow moved. Slightly. But she noticed.

I wanted to die.

I wished the ground will swallow me up to cover my generational embarrassment.

"Follow me," she said.

The house inside was... I don't have words.

Marble floors. High ceilings. Art on the walls that probably cost more than my student loans. Which I also couldn't pay. Everything smelled clean and expensive, like money had a scent and it was this.

Mira led me to a sitting area. It's White couches. Glass table. Flowers arranged like a magazine cover.

"Sit."

I sat. Carefully. Afraid to touch anything.

She sat across from me as she crossed her legs. Folded her hands. Looked at me like I was a puzzle she didn't want to solve.

"Your application was... interesting."

Interesting.

she didn't like it.

interesting was code name for what the fuck is this.

"I can explain—"

"Certified undergraduate?" Her eyebrow again. "That's not a thing."

I felt my face heat. "I know. I just—I thought—"

"You dropped out."

It wasn't a question.

"Yeah." My voice came out small. "I did."

"Your reference is a flatmate. Who you live with. Who is also apparently behind on rent."

How did she know that? Did she have a private investigator? Did rich people just... know things?

"Mira, I—"

"The position requires someone responsible. Trustworthy. Someone who won't steal or break things or have parties." She paused. "Your application suggests you are none of those things."

Ouch.

"I am!" I leaned forward. Too fast. She leaned back. "I mean—I can be. I will be. I really need this job."

Her face didn't change.

"Please." My voice cracked again. Fuck. "I'm not—I know my application looks bad. I know I'm not what you expected. But my rent is due. Like, due due. I have an eviction notice. Seventy-two hours. I sold my plasma twice this month. I have nothing left. I will clean this house until it shines. I will not touch anything. I will not breathe on anything. I will be invisible. I just—I really need this."

I stopped. Realized I was gripping my own hands too hard. Let go.

Mira stared at me for a long moment.

Then she laughed. Small. Quiet. Not a nice laugh.

"Desperate," she said. "I like desperate. Desperate people work hard."

I didn't know if that was a compliment. I took it anyway.

"The position is temporary," she said. "I might retain you permanently if you prove useful. But I make no promises."

"Okay. Yes. Thank you. I'll prove useful. I swear."

"There are rules."

"Okay."

She stood up. Walked to the window. Looked out at the garden like she owned it. Which she basically did.

"You will live in the house. There's a staff room downstairs. Small but adequate. You will clean, organize, run errands when asked. You will not enter certain rooms. That one—" she pointed down the hall, " is off limits completely. On any occasion. Do you understand?"

"Which room?"

"The one I just pointed to. Are you listening?"

"Yes. Sorry. Off limits. Got it."

"You may leave the house only for errands I assign. Once a week, on Saturday, you have a few hours to yourself. That's it. No guests. No parties. No noise."

My chest tightened.

"You'll resume work today. I'll show you to your room after."

"Today?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No! No problem. Today's great. I love today."

Another small laugh.

"One more thing." She turned to face me fully. "Take your shoes off before entering any room. The floors are marble. They scratch easily."

I nodded. Looked down at my holey socks. it felt the full weight of everything.

Then I stood up to follow her and my elbow hit the glass table.

Loud. Sharp. Horrifying.

Mira's eyes went wide.

"Oh my God I'm so sorry—" I grabbed my elbow like it had betrayed me. "I didn't mean—I'm so sorry—"

She walked over. Inspected the table. Ran a finger over the spot I'd hit.

Then she looked at me.

Slowly, Deliberately. From my messy curls to my holey socks to my burning face.

"Annie," she said softly. "I look at everyone that way. It has nothing to do with you."

She walked toward the hallway.

"Follow me. I'll show you to your room. Try not to break anything else."

I followed behind her.

The hallway stretched forever. They were doors on both sides. Art on the walls. Everything white and clean and so expensive it made my teeth hurt.

Mira walked ahead of me, heels clicking on the marble. She didn't look back to check if I was following. She just assumed I would.

She was right.

"More rules," she said without turning around. "You'll do a bit of cleaning. By that I mean the whole house. Every room. Every surface. Every day."

The whole house? This place was the size of an airport.

"I don't want you talking to anyone," she continued. "Staff, guests, anyone. You only speak when spoken to. Understood?"

I wanted to say what if someone asks me a question but I figured that counted as talking when not spoken to. So I just nodded.

She kept walking.

"Don't steal from me. Obviously. If anything goes missing, I'll know it was you. And I will call the police. Do you understand?"

"Yes." My voice came out tiny.

"Good."

We stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. She pushed it open.

"Here's your room."

I stepped inside.

It was small. Like, small small. A single bed pushed against the wall. A tiny closet. A window that looked out at... a brick wall. Nice view.

But it was clean. And it was mine. And it meant I wasn't sleeping on the street in three days.

"Thank you," I said. "Really. Thank you."

Mira leaned against the doorframe. Watching me.

"There's more."

Of course there was.

"You'll have Saturdays off. A few hours. Maybe three. Maybe four. Depending on my mood, of how much I may need you." She smiled that not-nice smile. "The rest of the week, you are not allowed to leave this house unless I send you on errands. No exceptions."

"Okay."

"No guests. No parties. No noise. No music. Nothing."

"Okay."

"If I hear one sound from this room at night, you're out. If I find one crumb in the kitchen, you're out. If you look at Mr. Hale the wrong way, you're out."

Mr. Hale.

"Is he... the owner?"

"My fiancé, yes. You won't see him much. He's busy. Important. When you do see him, you'll keep your head down and your mouth shut."

I nodded. Kept my head down. Kept my mouth shut.

Exactly like she wanted.

Mira pushed off the doorframe. "You'll be starting now. Kitchen needs scrubbing. I'll show you where the supplies are."

She turned to go.

"Wait—" I blurted.

She looked back. Eyebrow raised.

"Do I... get paid upfront? I just... the rent situation is really—"

Mira laughed. That laugh was not a good laugh.

"You'll get paid at the end of the first week. If you survive that long."

She walked away.

I stood in my tiny room, staring at the brick wall outside my window, wondering what the fuck I'd just signed up for.

Mr. Hale.

Why did that name itch at the back of my brain?

I shook it off. It was probably nothing. Probably just some rich asshole who owned things and ignored people like me.

I changed out of Sasha's blazer. Put on something more practical. Looked at myself in the tiny mirror.

"You can do this," I whispered.

My reflection looked doubtful.

"Fuck you," I whispered back.

Then I went to find the kitchen supplies.