Chapter 2
Lucia
A soft chime from my phone pulled me from sleep. I blinked against the dull glow of dawn seeping through the curtains, my body caught somewhere between the warmth of sleep and the cold slap of reality.
Right on time.
Laurent Dubois was like his Rolex—precise, relentless, and expensive to maintain.
I reached for my phone and pulled it under the duvet like it was a secret. His messages were already waiting. Bullet points. Minimal punctuation. No “Good morning.”
·Breakfast: protein, low carb. No onions.
·Coffee: strong. No sugar. Usual spot.
·Dry cleaning: picked up before 12.
·Confirm calendar, flag any conflicts.
·Rework presentation 3 for 2 p.m. meeting.
I let out a slow breath. My thumb hovered over the screen as I mentally translated his demands into action items and added three of my own just to keep him from tearing someone’s head off before lunch.
Outside, the city was still half asleep—windows dark, traffic muted. I could’ve stayed there, wrapped in my sheets, clinging to the warmth like a lifeline. But the man I worked for didn’t believe in slow starts.
I pushed the covers off and swung my legs out of bed, the floor cool against my skin. My slippers had migrated under the bed again—of course. I padded into the kitchen and started the kettle, already thinking through my route for the morning.
Coffee shop first. Then the dry cleaner that hated early drop-ins. I’d have to charm the guy behind the counter—again. The thought made me sigh, but I didn’t complain out loud. Not when Dubois Enterprises paid me more than any of my previous jobs combined.
And the benefits? Gold standard.
Dental. Private health. An annual bonus if you survived working under Dubois for longer than six months.
I hadn’t hit that mark yet, but I was close.
Close enough to know that if I played this right, I could finally stop juggling rent and ramen noodles.
Did it matter that I had to give up any concept of a social life? Or that my dignity took a small hit every time he snapped his fingers and expected me to appear?
I glanced at my reflection in the kitchen window—pale from lack of sun, hair tied in a loose knot, dark circles that no eye cream could solve.
I didn’t have dignity or a social life before this job.
At least now I could afford to fake both.
I sipped my tea and opened my notes app to start another day in service to the man who ran my life like a multinational merger.
Laurent Dubois didn’t believe in downtime.
And as long as I worked for him, neither did I.
?? ?? ??
Oh shit.
The line for his favourite breakfast place was longer than usual. I glanced at the time and felt my pulse spike. Payday. End of the month. People were flush with cash and queuing for overpriced pastries like their lives depended on it.
How had I not factored that in?
I clenched the bag tighter as I checked my phone.
No new message from him. Yet.
But Evelyn had already broken the silence.
Evelyn: Where are you? His majesty has arrived!
I was fucked.
If his coffee got too cold, he’d send me right back out. No discussion. No mercy. Just that flat, irritated stare that made my blood run cold.
I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. In and out. In and out.
The smell of roasted beans and sugar clung to the air like a cruel taunt.
The line moved.
My eyes snapped open.
I might make it.
?? ?? ??
I discreetly checked my reflection in the lift as it carried me higher into the sky. You’d think only angels lived up here, but devils walked among us.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t that bad. But I was pretty sure the man hated me. I’d given up weeks ago trying to figure out why. Now, I simply accepted the truth: he was never going to be pleasant or courteous.
I smoothed a few stray hairs—not for vanity, but because I needed to look immaculate in his office. Same care I’d taken when I worked reception. I’d perfected the art of the welcoming smile.
Mr Dubois couldn’t run me down or run me off.
My nightmares were scarier than him.
People made a lot of assumptions about me, but not many knew I’d crawled out of the foster care system.
According to the statistics, I should’ve been an unemployed, homeless criminal by the age of twenty-four.
I was four years past that.
Someone like Laurent Dubois?
He’d never make me quit.
?? ?? ??
I gently knocked on the door. Best not to startle him first thing in the morning—he could charge like a grizzly bear.
Not that there are bears in England, but he reminded me of the ones I’d seen on TV.
Great. My brain was rambling again.
I shoved the door open.
His face was glued to the screen, but as I approached, he held out his hand. I placed the cup into it.
The brown paper bag went down on his desk without a word.
“No need to run through the calendar—I’ve already checked it. Go work on the presentation.”
“Yes, sir,” I said with a nod and retreated. Fast.
This was better than I’d hoped. No lecture. No berating. No—
“Try to be on time tomorrow. Or else.”
I didn’t offer an excuse or try to pacify him. There was no point.
I closed the door quietly behind me.
But as I leaned against it, I couldn’t help wondering.
Or else… what?