My phone buzzed on the counter, snapping me out of the rhythmic hum of the oven. It was already 7:03. The table was set, dishes neatly placed, everything perfectly ready. I wiped my hands on my apron and glanced at the screen.
Ms. Cora.
Oh no.
"Hope everything is going well, Ms. Emma," her calm, clipped voice echoed through the speaker the moment I picked up.
I straightened my back automatically, trying to sound as professional as I could. "Yes, ma'am! Everything's ready perfectly. Dinner's set, the kitchen's spotless."
"Good," she said, a pause following that was way too long for my comfort. "I hope you've reached home already—considering Mr. Knight does not like anyone around when he's home."
Her tone carried that particular kind of warning that instantly tightened my chest.
And in that exact moment, my entire brain short-circuited.
F*ck. I forgot about that.
I wasn't supposed to be here.
I wasn't supposed to even breathe in this house after seven.
My eyes darted toward the kitchen clock—7:05.
He could walk in any second.
I tried to sound casual. "Oh—yes! Of course, ma'am. I've almost reached home actually. Thank you for checking on me!"
And before she could say another word, I hung up.
Now came the real panic.
I stood frozen for a good three seconds before my body finally caught up with my brain. "Sh*t. This must be bad. This must be really bad."
I rushed toward the microwave, picked up the covered dishes, checked everything one last time, and scribbled a note on a small piece of paper I tore from the corner of my recipe pad:
"Warm it for 30 seconds before eating. Tastes best that way. Also sauce is in the fridge, pour it over the pasta. –E."
Quick. Simple. Polite. Hopefully not offensive.
I stuck it under the plate so it wouldn't fly away and then dashed to the back door—the same one I entered through earlier.
Every step felt like a heartbeat. Every creak in the floor felt like thunder.
What if he saw me? What if he walked in right now? What if he found the note? What if he thought it was weird?
"God, Emma, shut up and move!" I hissed at myself.
I yanked open the back door and slipped out into the night air, closing it silently behind me. My heart was racing as I jogged down the path, clutching my bag against me. The crisp evening breeze hit my face, but it didn't help. My mind was screaming one thing only:
Do. Not. Get. Caught.
By the time I reached the main road and flagged down a cab, I finally exhaled.
"Ridgeway Apartments, please," I told the driver, trying to sound normal.
He nodded, and the car started moving. The tension in my shoulders slowly melted, though I still couldn't shake the lingering image of the mansion's golden lights fading behind me.
"That was close. Too close," I muttered.
I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment. Five hundred dollars a week. That's what was at stake. Five hundred freaking dollars. I couldn't lose that. Not for something as stupid as staying five minutes too long.
By the time the cab stopped, my heart had finally slowed down. I paid the driver, climbed out, and trudged up the three flights of stairs to my tiny apartment.
The door wasn't locked. Again.
"Of course," I sighed. "Why would it be?"
The second I walked in, chaos greeted me.
Tessa—my "responsible" little sister—was sprawled across the couch, phone pressed to her ear, laughing about something I didn't even want to know. And on the other side, Katie—my best friend, my unofficial third roommate—was sketching something on her notepad, completely oblivious to the world.
The smell of chips and cheap perfume hit my nose.
Ugh. My home sweet home.
"Tessa!" I called out, tossing my backpack onto the table. "Stop whatever that is and go study. You have your semester exams coming soon, remember?"
She didn't even look at me. "Yeah, yeah. I'll study after dinner."
"No. You'll study now."
She groaned, rolling her eyes. "Emma, come on. It's just a call. I'll be done in a—"
I didn't let her finish. "Tessa, your grades were a disaster last time. I want to see good ones this time. So hang up. Now."
She muttered something under her breath, turning away slightly.
"What was that?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
She sighed dramatically and said loud enough for me to hear, "I said fine!" before muttering another quiet "…f*ck off" that she clearly thought I wouldn't catch.
I did.
I bit back my own frustration. I was tired. Hungry. Stressed out. But yelling at her wouldn't help. Not really.
"Okay, enough," I said, more sharply than I meant to. "You're going to clean this entire hall. Right now. Let's go."
Tessa stared at me like I'd asked her to climb Mount Everest barefoot. "What? Why me?"
"Because," I said, walking toward the kitchen, "you're the one making the mess."
She huffed but got up, mumbling under her breath the entire time.
Katie finally looked up from her sketchbook. "Rough day?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
I dropped my head against the fridge door. "You have no idea."
"Job trouble?"
"Almost," I said, letting out a nervous laugh. "I kinda… forgot I wasn't supposed to be there when my boss came home."
Katie blinked. "Hmm, some of your boss's rules, Interesting!"
"I panicked, okay! Ms Cora called me and reminded me just in time. I grabbed my stuff and bolted through the back door like some kind of burglar."
She started laughing so hard I thought she'd fall off the chair. "Oh my God, Emma! You're going to get yourself fired before you even meet the guy."
"Don't jinx it," I said, pressing my hands together dramatically. "Please. I need this job. Tessa's fees, rent, groceries—it's the only thing keeping us afloat right now."
Her laughter softened into a sympathetic smile. "I know, Em. You'll manage. You always do."
"Yeah," I muttered, "by losing sleep and surviving on instant noodles."
"Welcome to adulthood," she said dryly, going back to her drawing.
I went to the kitchen, trying to shake off the stress. Our apartment kitchen was nothing like the mansion's—tiny, cramped, barely enough space for one person. But it was ours. I found comfort in that.
I opened the fridge, sighing at the sight of three eggs, half a tomato, and a bottle of ketchup. "Perfect," I muttered. "Gourmet dining, right here."
Tessa peeked in from the hall, holding the vacuum half-heartedly. "Can we order pizza?"
I turned and gave her my best are you serious look. "No. We're not spending money tonight."
"But—"
"No buts. I'll make omelets. You'll eat it."
She made a face but didn't argue further. Probably because she knew she'd lose.
As I cracked the eggs into the bowl, I couldn't help but replay the evening in my mind. The mansion. The food. The portrait. The rules. And the unseen Mr. Knight who apparently terrified everyone into silence.
What kind of man lived like that? Alone in a giant house, eating alone, having rules about who could breathe in his presence?
"Maybe he's just… private," I told myself quietly.
"Or insane," Katie said from the hall without looking up.
I snorted. "You're not helping."
"I'm not wrong either."
She had a point.
After dinner, I finally collapsed on the couch, the exhaustion washing over me. My body ached, my mind buzzed with anxiety, and yet, there was a strange satisfaction underneath it all.
Despite everything—
I had done it.
The job was mine.
The food was cooked.
The kitchen was spotless.
And I hadn't been caught.
For a moment, I allowed myself to smile.
Maybe tomorrow would be smoother. Maybe Mr. Knight would never even know I existed.