Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the BedIt wasn't an assassin. It wasn't a rival syndicate plant.
It was Emma.
She was curled on the very edge of the massive king-sized mattress, fully clothed in her gray cleaning uniform, fast asleep. Her breathing was shallow, uneven, and punctuated by a faint, exhausted wheeze. On the bedside table, her phone screen was lit up, displaying a notification from St. Jude’s Memory Care Facility: PAST DUE BALANCE - IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED.
The tension in my muscles slowly drained. I let go of the revolver, my fingers curling into the heavy silk sheets.
She must have collapsed while cleaning the adjoining master bath. Exhaustion had finally dragged her down, and instead of waking me or retreating to the staff quarters, she had simply crossed the invisible line between master and servant and fallen unconscious right there on the edge of my bed.
For a long minute, I just lay there in the dark, staring at her profile. Without the defensive armor of her exhaustion-driven glare, she looked impossibly young—barely twenty-six, carrying the crushing financial weight of a collapsing world on shoulders that were far too small.
I shifted slightly, trying to pull the heavy duvet over her shivering shoulders without waking her.
As the blanket settled, her eyes suddenly flickered open.
For a terrifying second, panic flashed across her face. Her hazel eyes widened, darting to my face, then down to her position on my bed. In a flash of raw adrenaline, she scrambled backward, almost tumbling off the edge of the mattress.
“I—I’m sorry!” she choked out, her voice cracking with pure terror as she scrambled to her feet, backing toward the double doors. “Mr. Vance, I swear to God, I didn't mean to—I was cleaning the bathroom floor and I just... I must have passed out for ten minutes—please don't fire me—my mother—”
“Emma,” I said. My voice was low, devoid of the thunderous rage she expected.
She stopped, breathing heavily, clutching her cleaning rag like a shield.
“Look at me,” I commanded gently.
She hesitated, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Did I say I was going to fire you?”
She swallowed hard, shaking her head. “No.”
“Then stop hyperventilating before you pass out for real on my carpet.” I reached over to the nightstand, picked up her phone, and turned it face down. “How much do you owe them?”
Emma froze. Her eyes dropped to the floor, a deep, humiliated flush rising up her neck and staining her cheeks. “That’s none of your business, Mr. Vance.”
“Everything that happens inside this house is my business,” I replied, my tone hardening slightly, reverting back to the cold syndicate boss she knew. “How much?”
She bit her lower lip so hard I thought it might bleed. “Fourteen thousand dollars. They’re transferring her to a state facility on Monday if I can’t pay the back balance.”
Fourteen thousand dollars. To me, that was the cost of a mediocre bottle of scotch or a round of ammunition. To her, it was an insurmountable mountain that was crushing her alive.
“Get some sleep, Emma,” I said quietly, turning away from her. “In my guest suite down the hall. Not on the floor. In the bed.”
May you like
She stared at me as if I had grown a second head, too stunned to even formulate a reply.
“That’s an order,” I added. “And tomorrow morning, we’re going to have a conversation about your salary.”
