Chapter Three - The job offer

It had been three goddamn days since I started job hunting online, and it wasn't going so well. I wasn’t even sure why I was still doing it. It’s not like I expected a miracle. Hell, miracles only existed in fairy tales and witchcraft. And surprise! surprise!! I wasn't in either one of them.

But still, I kept clicking, kept scrolling, kept trying to convince myself that somewhere in the sea of “entry-level” listings, there’d be something that would at least pay enough to get me through the next week.

I could practically feel my brain turning to mush for staring too long at my laptop screen, my eyes burning, a dull headache throbbing in my temples. You’d think after three days, I’d be a pro at this, right? I mean, how hard is it to click a few buttons and fire off a resume?

Apparently, harder than it sounds when you’ve been working in a clinic for the past few years, and your resume is basically a glowing list of “I can handle bodily fluids and keep calm when people scream at me.”

Yeah. Really fucking impressive.

The silence in my apartment was getting to me, and the half-eaten takeout and street food wrappers piling up weren’t helping. I felt gross just looking at it all. It was like every greasy bite made me feel a little slower, a little more tired. At this point, I figured I’d be dead from this junk food before Mr. Harris even had the chance to boot me out.

I stayed in for three days, just letting the silence and frustration pile up each time my server glitch or my resume submission fell through. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had a real conversation that didn’t end with me begging for an extension on a bill or explaining why I was about to get kicked out. It felt like all I was good for was making excuses for my life falling apart.

But no one was calling. No one was emailing. And those few interviews I’d managed to score? Nothing. Just a bunch of generic, corporate assholes telling me that while my experience was “impressive,” they were looking for someone with “more dynamic qualifications.” Whatever that means. One guy even told me I had “too much personality” for his office. I had to fight the urge to ask if he had the personality of a wet mop, but instead, I just hung up on him and proceeded to throw my phone across the room.

It wasn’t a pretty sight.

I sighed and shoved a hand through my hair, trying to keep it together. But at this point, it was like trying to hold onto a rope that’s been soaked in gasoline. Everything felt like it was slipping through my fingers. It was the same thing over and over again: apply, apply, apply, and then wait for the rejection email. Or worse, nothing at all. I felt invisible. Like I didn’t even exist in the eyes of anyone who mattered.

And it wasn’t like I could turn to anyone for help. My family hadn't spoken to me in eight years and I didn't even bother reaching out. My parents would sooner have me live in a cardboard box on the street than ask them for a favor. I had no Friends, no colleague, no boyfriend, not even a decent neighbor.

Nothing

And when you’ve got nothing, you’re basically a ghost. No one gives a shit about you.

That’s the reality of being a nobody.

But that changed sonner than later . A lot sooner.

So, there I was, sitting at my kitchen table, scrolling through another list of dead-end job openings, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on me into a goddamn sandwich. And not the tasty kind. There had to be something out there, right? Something that would turn this whole nightmare around. But I wasn’t holding my breath. If I did, I’d probably pass out before I even had a chance to find anything.

“Look at this shit,”

I muttered, clicking on yet another link for a customer service job that paid less than what I was paying in rent.

"Are they fucking kidding me?"

I slammed the laptop shut and leaned back in my chair, rubbing my eyes like I could somehow reset my brain. My back was already aching from sitting in the same damn spot for hours. I couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep pretending like it was all gonna magically turn around.

Every job posting I clicked on felt like a punch to the gut. Either they wanted someone with ten years of experience in something I barely understood, or they were asking for a personal recommendation from the Pope. At this point, even a job that involved cleaning up dog shit seemed like a step up.

I needed something better—something that didn’t feel like it was just a step away from me turning into a full-time disaster. Maybe something that wasn’t just another dead-end that’d leave me staring at a pile of bills and wondering what the hell happened to all my dignity. Wouldn’t be surprised if my next job had me selling my soul on the side.

It felt like the universe was just laughing at me, waiting to see how far I’d fall before I’d just give up and start selling cheap jewelry on I*******m or my nudes on Brazzers.

But then, as I sat there, staring at the screen with the kind of look on my face that said I’d seen too much to care anymore, an email popped up.

It wasn’t a lot—just a subject line that caught my eye. “Job Offer: Urgent.” I blinked, not even sure if I was reading it right. But I wasn’t about to question it. I wasn’t about to question anything at this point. If something wanted to offer me a job, I was going to grab it like it was the last lifeline on a sinking ship.

Clicking on the email, I braced myself for whatever I was about to read. Honestly, I didn’t even care if it was some weird-ass spam or an Arabian prince who needed help moving money. At this point, I would’ve settled for anything.

My inbox was a wasteland of rejections and spam, so when a new message popped up with the subject line ‘Job Offer: Urgent’, I didn’t even hesitate. Clicked it open, heart pounding like maybe this was finally something.

The message was short. Too short.

Subject: Job Offer: Urgent

Dear Scarlett,

We are in need of a nurse for 24/7 care for a terminally ill patient. The position is urgent and requires immediate attention. Due to confidentiality, further details will be provided upon acceptance.

If you are interested, please reply immediately.

Kind regards,

Clientele.

I blinked a few times, rereading it like it was some sort of weird joke, but nope, the email was real. Short and to the point. It wasn’t even signed properly. But what caught my attention wasn’t the vague wording, or the fact that it looked like it was written by a robot—it was the pay.

At the bottom of the email, hanging on its own was the Payment: $10,000 per week.

My mouth hung open like some kind of idiot. Ten thousand bucks a week. What the hell?

That was... that was ridiculous. I mean, if this wasn’t a scam, I could take that kind of cash and basically fix everything in one go. Pay off Mr. Harris and all my overdue bills. Maybe even get some food that didn’t come from a greasy takeout bag.

Of course, there was that tiny little thing called the catch. You know, the whole “confidentiality” bit. They didn’t even tell me what kind of patient I’d be dealing with. Terminally ill doesn’t exactly narrow it down, and the fact that it was urgent just screamed “something’s off here.” But at the same time... desperation makes you do weird shit. And I was desperate. Fucking desperate.

So, yeah, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the secrecy, but the money? That was a whole other level of temptation. A quick decision wasn’t really my style, but damn, this felt like a once in a lifetime kind of thing. I could just say yes, take the money, and figure out the rest later. What was the worst that could happen? It was just a job, right?

I quickly typed out my response, fingers shaking a little as I wrote the words: ‘I’m interested. Please provide more details.’

Then, I hit send before I could change my mind.