Kaylan Renee rushed down the cracked steps of her apartment building, a slice of toast dangling from her mouth and her curly ponytail bouncing with every frantic step. The sun had just begun to peek over the horizon, casting a soft golden hue over the narrow streets of East Bronx. She winced as she glanced at the time on her cracked phone screen.
6:57 a.m.
"Three minutes," she mumbled through a mouthful of toast. "Please, please don't let the subway be late again."
She jogged down the sidewalk, adjusting the strap of her worn-out tote bag, and waved as she passed old Mr. Jenkins, who sat on his porch like he had every morning since the beginning of time.
"Morning, Mr. J!"
"Running late again, Miss Kaylan?" he asked with a toothless grin, tipping his faded Yankees cap. "That hotel of yours needs to start serving coffee before you get there."
"If they did, I wouldn't still be broke," she called back, laughing breathlessly. "Tell Mrs. Jenkins I said hi!"
She turned the corner and narrowly missed colliding with a teenager skateboarding down the sidewalk.
"Watch it!" she yelled.
The boy only waved and hollered, "Love you, Kaylan!"
She rolled her eyes and grinned. "Kids."
The subway was mercifully on time — a small miracle, honestly. By 7:20 a.m., she was hustling down the gleaming, marble-tiled lobby of Bluestone Hotel, heart hammering in her chest. The scent of expensive perfume and lemon polish filled her nose, the sound of polished shoes tapping across the floor echoing through the space.
She scanned in at the side employee entrance and quickly made her way to the locker room to grab her cleaning supplies. Her phone buzzed in her bag just as she was slipping on her cleaning smock.
A message from Ella lit up her screen.
"Girl. You just missed Mr. CEO Hotness. And I mean BARELY."
Kaylan's stomach dropped. She typed back in a panic:
"He saw me??"
"No! That's the lucky part. He was heading to his car when I saw you clock in. If you'd walked in 2 minutes earlier, you might've caught a termination letter with your name on it."
Kaylan exhaled, placing a hand over her heart. "Sweet baby Jesus," she whispered.
Just then, the locker room door opened and in walked Ella herself — petite, curly-haired, with a bright pink lipstick that matched her nails and a personality twice her size.
"Girl," she said, flopping down on the bench beside her. "You really are playing with fire."
Kaylan threw her a look. "I didn't ask the MTA to run five minutes late. I woke up at five forty-five."
Ella smirked. "Maybe if you stopped watching those K-dramas till 2 a.m., you'd wake up like a normal person."
Kaylan gave her a shove. "I'm emotionally invested in Ji-Woo and the baker girl, okay? You wouldn't understand."
Ella grinned. "Well, if you get fired and move back in with your auntie in Jersey, don't come crying to me."
Kaylan groaned. "Please. I need this job. I'm one rent check away from calling it quits and moving to a cardboard box under the overpass."
Ella leaned in. "You know who doesn't have rent problems? CEO Hotness. I swear I saw a black credit card fall out of his wallet last week."
Kaylan rolled her eyes. "And what exactly would I do with a man like that? Trip and fall into his bank account?"
"Girl, it works in movies."
"Well, I'm not a movie."
They laughed, and for a moment, things felt light.
But as Kaylan grabbed her cleaning cart and headed toward her assigned floor, the reality of her life settled back on her like a second skin — warm, worn, and heavy. Bluestone Hotel may have been five stars and dripping in luxury, but she was just a speck on its polished floor.
She wheeled her cart into the hallway of the 8th floor — Executive Suites — and started on the first door. Strip the bed. Replace the linens. Sanitize the bathroom. She moved like clockwork, focused, methodical, invisible.
It was the invisibility that stung the most.
In college, she'd studied Hospitality and dreamed of managing a place like Bluestone — not cleaning up after its guests. But dreams were expensive. And student loans were merciless. She sent her résumé to fifty hotels after graduation and got exactly one callback.
For a janitorial position.
"Not forever," she whispered to herself as she wrung out a mop. "Just a stepping stone. Just one year. Maybe two."
She moved to the next suite, humming under her breath as she worked. Her favorite playlist played softly in her AirPods — upbeat R&B that made even the scent of bleach feel like a dance break. She was so focused, she didn't hear the footsteps behind her until someone cleared their throat.
She nearly jumped out of her shoes.
"Miss Renee, I presume?"
She spun around, heart in her throat, and found herself face-to-face with Craig Luther, assistant to the CEO, a man known for being as warm as dry toast and as unforgiving as corporate policy.
"Yes?" she asked, blinking.
"You left your cart parked in front of Suite 809. That's a safety hazard and a violation of hotel policy."
Kaylan flushed. "Oh. I— I was going to move it as soon as I finished in 810."
Craig raised a brow. "Let's keep things strictly by the book, shall we?"
She nodded quickly. "Of course. It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't."
He walked away without another word, leaving her cheeks burning.
Just breathe, Kaylan.
By the time her lunch break rolled around, she was exhausted. She found Ella in the staff cafeteria, already halfway through a tuna sandwich and deep in conversation with another housekeeper about the latest gossip.
"…I swear I heard the boss yelling at his dad in his office this morning," Ella was saying.
Kaylan raised an eyebrow. "Since when do CEOs yell?"
Ella grinned. "Since their dads show up unannounced and drag them into meetings. Something's up. Craig looked like he was walking on glass."
Kaylan sat down, pulling out her soggy sandwich. "I try not to keep up with rich people drama. It's too exhausting."
"Well, when you work for them, it kind of keeps up with you."
They ate in comfortable silence for a bit, then Ella said, "So, what's the plan? Still applying to manager trainee programs?"
Kaylan sighed. "Yeah. Got three rejections last week. One said I didn't have enough real hotel experience."
Ella rolled her eyes. "You clean five-star suites for billionaires. That's real enough."
"Tell that to HR."
As they finished lunch, Kaylan's phone buzzed again — a calendar alert reminding her of her evening class. She was still trying to finish her certification in hotel operations. That meant another late night on the train, another ramen dinner, and maybe four hours of sleep.
One step at a time.
After lunch, she headed back up to finish her floor. By 3 p.m., her arms ached and her knees felt like jelly. Still, she smiled and greeted every guest she passed with a cheerful "Good afternoon, sir," or "Hope you're enjoying your stay, ma'am."
She was good at being invisible. But she was even better at being polite.
She didn't notice the dark eyes watching her from the security feed.
**********
In a corner office ten floors up…
Alexander Marcelo leaned back in his leather chair, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, a storm in his eyes. The footage on the monitor showed a young woman pushing a cleaning cart down the executive hallway.
He narrowed his eyes.