Chapter 6

Pierce.

As I stood under the hot water, one thought refused to leave me alone: the little menace I now call my housekeeper.

I'd hoped for a serene, graceful woman—maybe the kind who hums softly while folding linens and smells like lavender. Instead, I got a swamp goblin with attitude issues, a music addiction, and a gift for chaos.

Zane challenged me to last a week without firing her. Fine. I’ll play along. But he never said I had to make it easy for her. She jolted me awake—so naturally, I'm planning a bit of revenge.

I returned to my room and spotted her tearing off my sheets. Earbuds in. Completely oblivious.

I grabbed the nearest pillow and lobbed it at her head.

She dodged, then turned around and stuck her tongue out. Like an over-caffeinated gremlin daring me to bring it on.

I almost laughed.

Later, as she mopped the kitchen floor, I strolled in and casually knocked over her bucket of water.

"My bad," I said, pretending to sound shocked.

She growled something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

Feeling inspired, I reached for the salt and scattered it across the countertop like I was seasoning a turkey. Then, just for fun, I smeared ketchup along the marble like I was recreating a murder scene.

“Make sure it sparkles,” I said with a smirk. “Unless you want me docking your already pathetic paycheck. Also, I’m still debating whether to charge you for emotional trauma after this morning’s harassment. My peace? Shattered.”

She spun around, flashing me a smile so sweet it should’ve been illegal. Dimples. Ocean-green eyes. The face of an angel—masking the soul of a gremlin.

I wasn’t fooled. Not even a little.

She was trouble wrapped in a pretty package—and probably set to explode.

I grabbed my coffee and laptop and stepped past her as she muttered something under her breath that definitely wasn’t a compliment. Her mop sloshed across the floor with the kind of rage that said I’d just made her hit list.

~~~~

I reached the boardroom just in time, settling in as my assistant connected the projector to my laptop. Today’s proposal was critical—our next major launch was riding on this.

Zane walked in, grinning like he knew something I didn’t.

I took a sip of my coffee.

And immediately choked.

Salt and Chili. Was that... cinnamon?!

That devil in a maid uniform.

Before I could regain control, the room filled with the most inappropriate moaning I’ve ever heard in my life.

“Ohhh, yes... right there... yes—harder—”

I stared at the screen in horror. My projector and laptop had Full-blown p**n!

Zane? Already in tears, doubled over in laughter.

“Shut it down! Meeting cancelled until noon!” I snapped, barely keeping it together.

My staff scrambled for the exit, several of them refusing to make eye contact on their way out—probably questioning everything they thought they knew about me.

Zane was practically gasping for air, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

“You seriously left that tab open?” he wheezed. “I warned you, man—cut back on the hardcore. But this? This is pure gold.”

I could feel my jaw tighten, the vein in my temple pulsing with fury.

“She wants war,” I muttered under my breath. “Fine. She’ll get one.”

With a sharp flick, I slammed the laptop shut.

~~~~~

Alexis.

The salt and pepper in his coffee? Just the appetizer. The real dish? That little surprise video I queued up on his laptop while he was busy rinsing off his sins in the shower.

Those two million were practically in my lap already. I could feel it—tingling fingertips, daydreams of crisp bills. Should I ask for the payout in pounds? Or euros? Hmm. Classy revenge deserved classy currency.

Mr. Carter strolled in not long after. I hovered near the counter, bracing myself for the glorious “You’re fired” moment.

But… crickets.

Not a word. He walked past like I was air, disappeared into his room, and came back out just as disinterested.

“What?” he barked. “Your shift’s over. Go.”

That was it?

I spotted a suspiciously fancy-looking vase on the side table. With a well-timed elbow nudge—crash!

“Oh nooo,” I gasped, voice laced with fake regret. “I just broke your super expensive vase. I’m such a bad employee.”

He didn’t flinch.

“It’s from Target,” he said, in a monotone voice.

Which billionaire shops at Target?

I stomped out of the building, my pride bruised and plot foiled. One thing was clear:

Next time, I had to go full villain mode.

~~~~

I spent the whole night plotting like a villain. Clearly, the petty stuff wasn’t cutting it. If I wanted that two-million-dollar sendoff, I had to go full chaos mode.

The next morning, I walked into that penthouse armed with a plan so outrageously brilliant, it deserved its own villain soundtrack.

Step one: Sabotage the schedule.

I slipped into his office and wiped out every calendar reminder he had. Team meetings? Gone. Conference calls? Vanished.

But just as I was tiptoeing out, Lucifer in a designer suit appeared.

“Why are you in my office?” he asked, one brow cocked.

I held up my duster like it was a badge. “Spring cleaning.”

He blinked. “It’s January.”

“Early spring. I’m proactive.”

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious… but didn’t fire me.

Step two: Attack his diet.

Pierce Carter was all about clean eating and abs you could iron shirts on. So I made him breakfast—heart-attack edition: extra greasy bacon, syrup-drenched pancakes, and three raw egg yolks floating in a glass.

“Breakfast of champions,” I said sweetly.

He gave me a long, hard look. “What the hell is this?”

“Protein boost! Trendy on TikTok.”

He cut into the pancake, paused… and handed me the plate.

“You eat it,” he said with a smug grin. “I insist.”

I stared at the greasy mess like it was my worst life choice. Damn it. He was onto me.

Step three: Go nuclear.

Bleach in the laundry—his whole wardrobe now a lovely shade of bubblegum pink.

Hid his car keys in the freezer.

Texted his assistant from his phone: “Cancel everything. I need a spiritual reset.”

By noon, the man should’ve been breathing fire.

But instead? He leaned on the counter, arms crossed, looking way too amused.

“That’s cute,” he said. “You think you can break me.”

I blinked. Fumed. Screamed internally.

WHY. WON’T. HE. FIRE. ME?!

He leaned in close, his breath warm with that insufferable smirk.

“Oh, Alexis” he said, voice dripping with mockery. “You’re out of tricks. I’ve already won.”

I folded my arms and stared him down. “This isn’t over.”

Pierce laughed. Not a chuckle. Not even a snort. This was the kind of maniacal, dramatic cackle you'd hear right before the villain drops someone off a cliff.

“Careful now,” he said in a low, theatrical voice. “I don’t do gentle.”

And with that, he walked off, leaving me standing there in a confused, slightly shivery mess. Was it fear? Adrenaline? Or the way my body just reacted to his voice?

Nope. Delete that thought. Trash it. Burn it.

Back to business. I resumed my cleaning, dusting furiously and mentally workshopping new ways to get fired.

Then—

“Hello.”

I froze. The voice was low, weirdly dramatic, and very much not my inner monologue.

I spun around. Nothing.

“It’s me…”

NO.

I checked every corner to where the voice was coming from.

Was this house haunted? Was that river ritual curse finally kicking in?!

Then, in the most ridiculous tone:

“I’M HEEEERE. MWAHAHAHA!”

I let out a really loud blood curdling scream.

This house had ghosts. Actual spirits. I knew it.

I dashed toward the bathroom, tripping over a rug and knocking into a lamp. I needed water. I needed Jesus. I needed—

The faucet turned on by itself.

Okay. I was definitely cursed.

The water smacked my face with so much pressure. It wouldn’t stop. I wasn’t even touching the damn faucet, and yet it gushed like Niagara with a vengeance.

Then the lights started flickering.

Oh. OH NO. This wasn’t a house—it was a possessed circus.

I staggered back, drenched, heart pounding, every horror movie I’d ever watched flashing through my mind like a cursed reel. WHY couldn’t I just have regular problems? Like broken vacuums or expired milk?

But no. Not me.

That’s when it happened.

BZZZZ!

Every single alarm clock in the house went off.

The walls practically shook with the sound. My ears screamed. My soul tried to flee my body.

I dropped to the floor in fetal position, whispering apologies to every ghost I might’ve offended in this cursed penthouse.

This was it. I was the token idiot who dies first in a horror movie. The clueless one who investigates the creepy sound and says “Hello?” like the ghost is gonna respond politely.

Did Steph do a voodoo on me, so she could further ensure I never get back with Kevin again? Did Kevin bewitch me to never find peace after him?