CHAPTER SEVEN: welcome to service duty.

ACE

There was absolutely nothing wrong with her going to the garden. It was just that I couldn’t have anyone tainting the memories of my mother. That garden was the only piece of her we could still see, touch, and feel.

I stared at my office door, waiting for the person who had knocked to come in.

It was Clara—my assistant at the Mason Enterprise. So far, she’d lasted longer than the others I had already fired.

“Sir,” she greeted, walking straight to my desk. "I found it," she said, her voice smooth and sultry.

"The shortlist of companies responsible for stirring up those protesters. I’m ninety percent sure it’s Cranes Electronics. They’ve got motive, access, and just the right amount of subtlety to pull it off without leaving too many breadcrumbs."

I flipped through the documents, skimming the summary she’d neatly highlighted.

“You’ve done well,” I said.

“Of course I have,” she replied with a smile that was more suggestive than professional. “You bring out the best in me, Ace.”

Her tone made me pause. Ace. Not sir, not boss. She only used my first name when she was feeling bold—and lately, she was always bold.

She stepped closer to my side of the desk, pretending to adjust a stapler. “You know, most bosses would kill to have someone as loyal and capable as me. But I wonder if you’ve ever considered how loyal I could be… outside of office hours.”

I looked up, locking eyes with her. “Clara.”

Her smile deepened, unfazed. “All I’m saying is… loyalty comes in many forms. Some more… personal than others.”

“I appreciate your loyalty outside work but it has to stop,” I said coldly.

Her lips parted slightly, but I didn’t give her room to interrupt.

“You’re damn good at your job. That’s why you’ve lasted this long. But this... this thing you’re trying to blur between us? I don’t allow it.”

“Ace—”

“No.” I reached into the drawer and slid an envelope across the desk to her. “You’ve got two options. Step down from being my assistant and transition to another role—same pay, better boundaries. Or leave the company entirely with this check. It’s generous, and you’ve earned it.”

For the first time, she looked caught off guard.

“I thought maybe... after all these months working so close and being intimate, you felt something.”

“I don’t.” I stood, my expression hardening. “And I won’t. Don’t mistake proximity for connection. The intimacy was one time and it was a mistake.” I shouldn't have said the last part but Clara needed to hear it.

She took a step back, her face composed but eyes burning. “You always shut people out like this?”

“Only when they try to cross a line I didn’t draw.”

She nodded, lips tight.

“You’ll regret this,” she said with a small, clipped laugh. “Having a woman who knows your schedule, your temper, your moods... that kind of closeness doesn’t come twice.”

I stepped around the desk, towering just enough to make her pause.

“I don’t mix business with anything else outside casual, Clara. That’s what keeps me in control.” I leaned in slightly. “And I always stay in control.”

She swallowed hard and walked out, heels clicking sharply on the tile.

She was gone—but the problem she left behind? Still very much in the air. We have moles within the enterprise and they're selling inside information.

The door clicked shut behind Clara, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume and the residue of tension she’d stirred. I sighed and leaned back in my chair, letting the silence settle.

Of course she had to develop feelings. They always did. That was the problem with mixing business and personal—one always bled into the other. And I hated cleaning up that kind of mess.

My phone buzzed against the desk.

BOB.

I picked it up. “What is it?”

“Bad news,” he said without preamble. “The Giordanos. They hit our container before it reached the docks. We lost about twenty percent of the last shipment.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What the fuck were they thinking?”

“We don’t know yet, but it’s not a random strike. They had intel. Someone fed them the exact departure time.”

So it was betrayal—again. “You think it’s internal?”

“Most likely. Could be from the crew that loaded it. Or someone higher up—someone with access to the manifests.”

I stood up and walked to the window, staring out at the skyline. “Tell me we have eyes on the Giordanos.”

“We do. They’ve been quiet since the hit. No bragging, no turf noise. It was clean and calculated. They want us to know they can reach us without declaring war.”

“Which means they want leverage.” I let that sink in. “They want to weaken our flow without drawing heat.”

“We can’t let that stand,” Bob said.

“No, we won’t.” My voice was cold. Final. “Get the names of everyone who touched that shipment. I want interviews. Quiet ones. The kind they don’t walk out of unless I say so.”

“Copy that,” he said. “You want to meet in person?”

“Tonight. 9 p.m. at the warehouse. And Bob…”

“Yeah?”

“Tell the men to pack for blood.”

********

I stepped into the kitchen with zero expectations and even less enthusiasm.

The moment I did, my eyes locked with someone I recognized instantly—the frail girl from the Master's house. The one who used to pinch me when no one was looking to stop me from saying a lot of things to the mistress.

She stood by the sink drying a glass, looking almost angelic in her apron.

She looked well and was not malnourished like she did back then.

"You're the help?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Her lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. “I see you remember me,” she said, wiping her hands. “I was told you’d be tagging along with me from now on. Welcome to service duty.”

Tagging along? That wasn’t exactly the word Ace used.

“I’m Hope,” I said curtly, trying to keep it professional even though my blood boiled.

“Trust me, I know. Everyone here does. Word travels fast when the boss picks someone from the Master's house,” she replied, walking past me to a tray of folded linens. “Come on. We have work.”

The morning went by in a blur of errands. I followed her from room to room—dusting, folding, fetching—like a personal shadow. She didn’t pinch me this time, but her sarcasm was just as sharp. I didn’t care. My mind was somewhere else, stuck on the fact that I’d been moved.

That’s right. I no longer stayed on the same floor as Ace.

They settled me into the workers' quarters—two floors down, past the utility hallway and next to the linen closet. It was plain, small, and cold. There was no fancy bathtub or breakfast in bed anymore. Just a metal bunk, a drawer, and a single bulb dangling from the ceiling. And I shared it with her... I wasn't interested in knowing her name yet.

I wasn’t stupid. This was Ace’s way of reminding me of my place.

But it stung.

I sat on the edge of the bunk that night, still in uniform, fists clenched at my sides. My jaw ached from how hard I was grinding it. He was testing me. Or punishing me. For what? For going to the garden? For seeing too much? Or was this part of the “plan” he had for me?

I needed answers.

The plan was simple: wait for him to return and confront him directly. But when I stormed up to his wing and barged through the hallway, I didn’t meet Ace.

I met someone else.