Mate Reclaimed

Maya

They say freedom feels like soaring. 

For me, it felt like being cast out on the streets with nothing but the clothes on my back and a stupid grin on my face. 

At twenty-five, I was broke as hell.

Destitute, actually.

I was homeless, with no one to call and no plan beyond getting through the night without crawling my ass back to the casino. But hey— at least I was free, right? 

And that was everything to me.

I know it might not sound like much to be happy about. Truth is… people don't really realize the value of these things until they lose it—whether to one costly mistake, poorly thought out decision, or the other. 

And that…That was exactly what happened to me.

A year and a half ago, I thought I was being smart by taking out a little loan. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. Quick cash. 

An easy fix for my money problems. 

And truly, the mulah had been good—certainly enough to cover my sky-high student loans, mom’s funeral, and the rent my landlord had suddenly grown way too interested in. 

I’d paid for it all, easily—and then some. 

But at what cost?

The guy who'd lent it to me had smiled like some benevolent uncle. “No problem, sweetheart. Pay it back quick, no worries.”

Spoiler: there were worries. Big ones.

Because when you borrowed money from people with names like Carlo and Rico, things weren't always as simple—or as upfront—as they seemed. 

There were hidden clauses. 

Alarming Deadlines.

Interest rates that multiplied like weeds, piling higher the more you delay—until you nearly had a heart attack every time payment day was due!

And with these guys, “defaulting” didn’t just mean they sent you angry emails in red block letters. They fucking showed up at your door in the dead of the night! And demanded that you look real pretty for the neon lights at their casino.

And the thing is—you can’t say no.

So I became a stripper. 

Not because I wanted to. Not because I dreamt of dancing half-naked for drunks in expensive suits. 

But because the alternative was worse.

Much worse.

So I'd endured twelve months of humiliation, plus six bonus months “for the delay.” Eighteen months in total—of revealing sequin dresses, poles, and forcing a smile for these bitches.

But tonight? 

Tonight was my last. Fucking. Shift!

Huzzah!

I leaned on the dressing room counter, scrubbing off my lipstick with a tissue that tore to pieces halfway through with how aggressively I used it. I couldn't wait to be done.

Glitter still clung to my collarbone like its shiny little life depended on it. And behind me, the other girls were laughing about some high-roller who tipped like tonight was his last night out before his wife locked him in a cage and threw away the key.

“Done already?” Tanya, a redhead with legs longer than my entire future, arched a brow at me.

“Done for good, man.” I stuffed my heels into my bag like I was shoving the memory of this place  into a coffin.

“No way.”

“Way.” I grinned, even though my stomach churned with… dread, maybe? “Guess you’ll have to cover my tips from now on.”

“Please,” she snorted. “Like anyone tips you.” That was Tanya for you, always dressing up affection behind the shades she loved to throw. Besides… We both knew I got the highest tips around here in the short—not so short—time I was stuck dancing under those lights. 

But she was a solid one. 

Always came through for me. I’d miss her. Maybe.

“Hey, you know what?” I faced her fully. “You should take these.” Heels, dresses, all of it. I wasn't planning on needing them where I was going.

“Fucking bitch.” She pressed her index finger to the corner of her eye—catching the tear before it could escape and ruin her makeup. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“What?” I laughed incredulously, caught in the hug she crushed me into. “You're crying already.”

“Oh, shuttup,” she muttered into my hair. Then pulled back and looked me dead in the eyes. “Good luck out there, chica. You know I love you. But I hope we never meet again.”

Yeah... She still had a few more years to go. And if we did meet again, that meant… No. I couldn’t let myself end up back here.

Let's just hope the real world was kinder.

~~~~~~

Geoffrey—the huge bouncer at the entrance of Midnight Casino—nodded as I passed him on my way out. 

He always acted all tough and he probably hated my guts as fuck when I first arrived but he secretly looked out for me. And for that? I’d always be grateful.

“Congratulations,” he said in his gravelly baritone, like I’d just been released from prison. Which, honestly, wasn’t far off.

Outside, the neon sign buzzed above the casino door. The air smelled of cigarettes and spilled beer, and I pulled my coat tighter around my body. 

Then grinned.

I began to walk—with no direction or destination in mind. Just my feet moving forward, one step after the other. Because anywhere was better than here.

And that’s why… for me? This is what freedom felt like.

After walking for a while, I came across a diner that glowed in the corner with the kind of fluorescent (green) lights that made everyone look like zombies. 

Perfect. 

I slipped inside the diner and slid into a booth. 

Without really reading the menu, I ordered the cheapest thing I could find on it: black coffee.

The waitress gave me a look. You know the one. The honey-you’re-broke-and-I-know-it look. I smiled sweetly and pretended I didn't know she knew I was broke.

My phone buzzed as I scrolled through job listings.

Waitress. Cleaner. Warehouse assistant. All paying less than the tips I sometimes made on even the Driest of nights at the Casino.

Except now I didn’t have sequined dresses or a stage to perform on.

Just debt-free poverty.

“Perfect,” I muttered, still with a smile. Things weren’t off to a great start, but… it was better than not being free enough to even hope for a shitty one. “This is perfect.”

“Talking to yourself now?” The waitress appeared with my coffee, smirking.

“It’s either that or I scream. Didn’t want to scare off your other customer.” I nodded at the trucker hunched over a plate of eggs like it had personally offended him.

She laughed and left me alone, bless her.

I kept scrolling. More dead ends. And then—

Nanny Wanted. Live-in Position. Room and Board Provided. Good Pay. There was also an address and an instruction to “Apply Within.”

I blinked. Read it again. My heart did a weird little flip.

Room and board. Translation: a roof over my head. Meals I didn’t have to pay for. And actual money on top of that?

It almost sounded like a scam. Or a miracle.

God, is that you?

I copied the number down so fast I nearly spilled my coffee.

Me, a nanny. I had no qualifications, no references, unless you counted balancing on six-inch heels while dodging grabby hands as “childcare adjacent.” But what was the worst that could happen? 

They’d say no. 

Which, last I checked, didn’t kill people.

I leaned back in the booth, staring at the ad glowing on my cracked screen. 

“This is it,” I whispered. My voice came out shaky. “My second chance.”

Of course, I had no idea what kind of man—or family—was waiting on the other end of that ad.

But I was about to find out.