"What's your name? Or should I just call you 'Cleaner'?" Cleo asked, her tone sharp, cutting through the soft hum of the Manhattan apartment.
"No, Mrs. Monroe," the young woman replied, standing straight. "My name is Izzy."
"It looks like you're not wearing the right bra size," Cleo said sharply. "Why are your boobs all over the place?"
"No, ma'am," Izzy stammered. "The button came off on the road."
"Then close them up. I have a man in this house," Cleo ordered.
"Yes, Mrs. Monroe. Yes, ma'am," Izzy replied nervously.
Cleo frowned. "yes ma'am,yes Mrs Monroe,I don't like confused ladies. Which one are you going to call me?"
"Mrs. Monroe," Izzy said quickly.
"Good," Cleo muttered, eyeing her from head to toe before turning away, her gaze cold and dismissive.
Cleo leaned back in her armchair, letting her gaze drift toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. The city stretched beyond her. "Okay, Izzy. Listen carefully.
Rules. Number one: do not look at my husband.
Number two: do not dress seductively.
And number three…" She paused, letting her words hang. "…do not get involved with him. Ever. Under any circumstance."
Izzy nodded, her expression calm, lips pressed in a firm line. "Yes, Mrs. Monroe. Understood."
Mathias passed through the living room,looking like a visitor in his own home,eyes flicking toward Izzy for the briefest moment. He didn't speak, but the subtle intensity of his gaze lingered long enough to make the air feel taut.
"I said don't look at him!" Cleo snapped suddenly, her voice cutting through the apartment. "If I catch you doing any of this, I will report you and the organization that sent you here. Clear?"
"Yes, Mrs. Monroe," Izzy replied, steady and professional, though the slightest flicker of curiosity passed through her eyes.
Cleo straightened, smoothing her dress. "Good. That's settled." She clicked her heels along the hardwood floor as she ascended the stairs, leaving Izzy alone with the soft hum of the city below.
---
Upstairs, Mathias paused in the bedroom doorway, arms crossed loosely over his chest. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Darling… What was that downstairs? That little… spectacle?"
"It wasn't a spectacle," Cleo replied evenly, her tone calm but precise. She walked to the cupboard and rested a hand lightly on its surface. "It was a precaution. Boundaries. No more free indulgences, no more distractions. No more…" She let the words linger, leaving him to fill in the blank.
Mathias picked up his car keys, running a hand through his hair. "I'm growing tired of this marriage," he muttered, his voice low, almost dangerous.
Cleo's eyes narrowed. "Then give me a divorce paper," she said firmly. "I'll sign it. You know how infidelity divorces work here in New York. Courts won't look kindly on a man who can't control his… desires."
She stepped closer to Mathias.
Mathias didn't move. He just stared,and tightened his jaw, eyes cold.
Cleo stopped right in front of him, her breath trembling with fury.
"I will lie to the court," she said slowly.
"I'll tell them you weren't just cheating."
Her voice dropped, dark and deliberate.
"You were also a rapist… and a violent man too."
Mathias's eyes flickered, but she didn't stop.
"Don't dare me, Mathias. If you do, I'll show you how an angry Eve behaves."
Silence filled the room—heavy, electric, dangerous.
He didn't respond. Shrugging, he slid the keys into his pocket and left, the door clicking softly behind him. The apartment fell into a charged quiet, punctuated only by the distant sounds of traffic and sirens from the city below.
Cleo exhaled, glancing toward the skyline. Lights flickered across Manhattan, shimmering against the windows of nearby buildings. She whispered to herself, almost a promise: "You will be loving a man, and a man will always love skirts. Mathias… I know your games. But I will play along. Let's see who wins."
---
Downstairs, Izzy moved with methodical precision, arranging cushions, polishing surfaces, and adjusting small details to make the apartment impeccable. Each movement was controlled, deliberate. She felt the tension lingering in the apartment like static electricity.
Even as a newcomer, she could sense the invisible power struggle—Cleo's careful control, Mathias's magnetic presence, and the unspoken rules shaping the room.
She reminded herself firmly: observe, clean, stay professional. That was all.
---
By late afternoon, the apartment gleamed under the city light. Cleo returned to her laptop near the window, pretending to work but keeping a careful watch on Izzy. The helper moved cautiously, avoiding unnecessary glances toward the study or the stairs.
Cleo smirked faintly. Izzy was aware, careful, and seemingly smart enough to survive without being another of Mathias's distractions. But she knew Mathias would notice her regardless. He always did.
She allowed herself a small smile. Let him notice. Let him think. But she controlled the game, and the apartment was hers.
---
Hours slipped by as Mathias wandered through the city streets, chasing silence that refused to stay.
He knew going home meant stepping into hell again.
Yet after four long hours of running from his own thoughts, he finally turned the car around… and went back.
Mathias returned, standing in the doorway with his coat slung casually over one arm. His eyes scanned the room and found Cleo first. Their gazes met, brief but loaded with unspoken challenge.
Cleo's face remained neutral, composed, but inside, she was calculating every move. The boundaries were hers. The rules were hers. And she was ready for him to test them.
Izzy, meanwhile, moved quietly, finishing her cleaning duties. She could feel the subtle energy between husband and wife, aware that each glance, each gesture, carried meaning. Her job was simple: remain professional, stay out of their conflicts—but even that required constant vigilance.
Mathias's presence was magnetic, and though Izzy didn't directly acknowledge him, she sensed his interest. He shifted slightly, scanning the room, eyes lingering on the areas she had just cleaned. Cleo's sharp glance caught him for a fraction of a second before returning to her laptop. She didn't flinch; she never flinched.
---
Night settled fully over Manhattan. Cleo moved toward the bedroom, shedding her blazer with soft, deliberate motions. She paused, glancing toward the living room and Izzy.
"You're doing well," Cleo whispered, almost inaudibly, a private acknowledgement. "But remember… This is my house. My rules. And I play to win."
Izzy quietly put away cleaning supplies, sensing the tension and power struggle that hung in every corner. Every glance and movement was loaded with unspoken rules, subtle dominance, and desire. She was learning fast that in this apartment, nothing was ever simple.
Mathias re-entered the living room briefly, catching Cleo's gaze again before heading upstairs. The silent contest of glances, restraint, and subtle provocations continued.
Cleo prepared for bed, whispering once more: "Mathias… I know your games. But I will play along. Let's see who wins."
The rules were set. The players were in position. And the first moves in this dangerous game had just begun.