Chapter 4

Thelma's POV

My eyes snapped open to the sunlight slowly seeping into the room I found myself in. I blinked, disoriented, glancing around at the unfamiliar space. The white sheets draped over me, the foreign scent lingering in the air, the walls I didn’t recognize—none of it made sense.

I saw a man. Lying beside me.

My heart jolted and I whipped up immediately, panic crashing over me. I didn’t know how I got here, or why I was in a bed with him.

The voices echoed in my head. His voice. Words I didn’t fully remember, yet I knew they belonged to him. His scent clung to me.

I placed my hand on my head, frowning from the hard pounding going on in my brain.

“No more alcohol," I mumbled under my breath.

He stirred beside me, and my chest tightened. I quickly dressed, my fingers fumbling against the fabric, rushing before he woke and saw me.

Nothing had happened. I knew the moment I slipped into my clothes—my body untouched. Relief washed through me, sharp and bitter. I was grateful nothing had happened.

I fled before he could open his eyes.

Outside, my phone buzzed, startling me. I answered instantly.

“Miss Thelma, your mother was rushed to the ICU last night, she—”

The nurse’s voice cut off abruptly as the line went dead. Whether it was a network glitch or my battery finally giving up, I couldn’t tell.

Panic shoved me forward. I broke into a run toward the bus stop, flagging down the first bus in the direction of the hospital. The ride was endless and yet too fast, each second clawing at me with dread.

*****

Tears blurred my vision the moment I saw her.

My mother. My saving grace.

She lay there, paler than before, her body frail and eaten away by sickness. My chest cracked with pain just looking at her.

“Her cancer is advancing into its final stages, Miss Thelma,” the doctor said, his tone clinical, detached, but heavy all the same. “We need to place her on chemotherapy immediately.”

He had been saying this for months. Pleading with me to act, to bring the money. But the money never came. Each day that passed without it felt like I was signing away her life. If I had it, she wouldn’t be here like this. If I had it, maybe she would still be strong, still be herself.

I clenched my fists. This woman wasn’t just anyone. She was my mother not by blood, but by sacrifice.

I was only eight when my real family died in a car crash. Flames devoured everything. Screams filled the air. I should have died too, but she pulled me out—dragged me from the wreckage before the fire swallowed it whole.

She had no children of her own. Yet, she chose me. She adopted me. Raised me. Gave me love when the world had stripped me of everything.

And now… cancer was stripping her away from me.

I was still poor and couldn’t do anything for her, despite all she had done for me.

“Can’t you proceed with the treatments? I’ll pay up once I get some money. I’ll make deposits as soon as I’m able to earn anything!” I pleaded, my voice cracking under the weight of desperation. I begged and begged and begged, but nothing happened.

The doctor didn’t move. His silence was louder than my cries. It wasn’t in his hands—he couldn’t treat her without the financial department’s sanction. Rules. Policies. Numbers on paper standing between me and the only woman I had left.

I broke down right there, dying inside, yet still crying on the outside. He didn’t budge.

I stumbled out of the room, tears blinding me, my sobs echoing through the hallway. For months I had been searching for a job, but nothing had come. I had already lost my side job. There was one tutoring position I had applied for—I’d seen the advert, had hoped but no feedback had ever come.

As I walked out of the hospital, I felt the stares. People looked at me oddly as if my grief was a spectacle they could whisper about. My phone flickered back to life, and with trembling hands, I switched it on, still wiping my tears.

I couldn’t lose my mother. I couldn’t let her go this way—without trying, without fighting, without doing something.

My mind spiraled. What could I do? Should I plead with Collins for a loan? Get down on my knees if I had to? Or beg Vanessa to help me? They both came from rich families—money wouldn’t mean much to them.

Or should I… sell my body online to horny men just for quick cash?

The thought made me choke on my own tears. I didn’t know what to do anymore. I didn’t know what choice to make. I needed help, and fast. I was caught in a trance of despair, the weight of time pressing against my chest.

I collided with someone as I stumbled forward.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” I muttered between tears, not even stopping, just pushing past as if running from my own shadow.

Then my phone rang again.

An unknown number.

My heart skipped. Fear coiled in my stomach. Was it one of the people I owed? A debtor after me? The electricity service? Water bills? My chest tightened, but I answered anyway, bracing myself.

Instead, I froze.

“Thelma Grey?” a man’s voice asked on the other end.

“Yes… this is she,” I whispered, uncertain.

“You’ve been hired by my boss for the tutor position,” he said smoothly. “A driver will pick you up at your house by eight to bring you over. We’ll discuss other details when you arrive. Are you still interested, ma’am?”

For a moment, I was stunned. My breath hitched, caught between disbelief and relief. Then the words tumbled out of me.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” I answered immediately, almost too quickly.

Hope—fragile, trembling, but alive—lit inside me again.

“Yes sir! Yes sir, I am still interested,” I shouted, though my heart churned with questions.

When I had gone for the first interview, there had been so many candidates—more qualified than I was. Numerous of them. With degrees, with certificates I didn’t have.

We had been told there would be a second interview. But suddenly, without it, I was hired?

The thought gnawed at me, but then I remembered—the salary. More than ten thousand dollars every month. Just to tutor a little girl. With accommodation. With food. A chance like that? I couldn’t throw it away with questions. Not when my mother’s life was dangling by a thread.

I wiped my tears and ran back home to prepare.

From my bag, I pulled out a dress. Rumpled, but it would do. It was the most expensive one I owned—yet it was only second-hand, something I had bought at a boutique with trembling hands. Still, it was the best I had.

I dressed, smoothed my hair, and waited.

When the clock struck eight, a sleek car pulled up in front of my house. I wasn’t surprised—they had my address from the documents I’d submitted. My heart pounded as I stepped outside.

A man opened the car door for me. I murmured a greeting and climbed in. The drive was quiet—eerily quiet.

“The boss is around today,” the man, whom I assumed was the butler, finally spoke. “You will have to see him before you begin work tomorrow.”

I nodded silently. I had already trained myself not to speak too much in places that weren’t mine.

The car pulled up to a mansion—so vast, it stole the breath from my chest. I followed the butler inside, my steps echoing on the polished floor.

We turned a corner, heading toward the living room, when I froze.

I saw him.

“Follow this way, ma’am, you will meet the boss—” the butler’s voice trailed off, swallowed by the rush of blood pounding in my ears.

Because there he was. Seated on the chair, legs crossed, gaze steady.

He looked familiar. As if I have seen him somewhere.

My breath caught.

Light casted onto his highlighting his features. Like a fictional god that walked out of a TV screen or book. Tall and thick with muscles. My mouth watered.

“Thelma… the boss,” the butler announced as the man rose to his feet, walking toward us.

I adjusted my shirt, combed my fingers through my hair and let a silent breath.

“Um…Sir…" My palms clamped with sweat nervous all of sudden. There was something about him that made my nerves flare up.

Just as I was about to take his hand, he closed in and stared down at me. His height hovering over me like I am a mini sized ant.

“You don't remember me, do you?"