CHAPTER 2

Tessa’s POV.

He didn’t call me back.

His hands were still on the door handle.

I remembered the first time he held that same door open for me, smiling, saying ladies first as if I mattered. Now, he wouldn’t even meet my eyes.

The hallway light spilled into the room, exposing the mess behind me—the sheets, the scattered papers, the scent of Lydia’s perfume hanging in the air.

“You should go” ,Evan said again. Not angry and not gentle either, but certainly unsure about those words.

My lips parted before I could stop myself. “Did you ever love me?”

For a second, I thought I saw something flicker across his face. He exhaled through his nose and looked away, his grip tightening on the door handle.

“Tessa,” he said. “This isn’t the time”

I nodded. Once.

My foot brushed against the edge of a bill. It slid across the floor and stopped near his shoe. He nudged it aside without looking.

I bent down, gathering the papers while pressing my shaking fingers flat against the floor until they steadied.

Behind me, the bed creaked.

“You should hurry” Lydia said “We don’t have all day”.

I stood, clutching the papers to my chest. Then, I walked past him, my shoulder brushing his arm lightly. He flinched, stepping back as if the contact hurt. The door opened wider.

I paused in the hallway, shamelessly hoping he would say my name.

He didn’t call me back.

The door closed with a full click.

I walked without really noticing where I was going, unintentionally snubbing the gateman’s greetings as I stepped out to the main road.

Cars rolled past, voices floated by, life moved on as if it had never noticed the pieces of me that had just shattered.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I almost ignored it.

“Hello?” My voice was thin and I was obviously not in the mood to speak with anyone.

“Good afternoon”,a calm, professional woman said. Her tone carried the authority of someone used to being obeyed. “This is Mrs Halima of the Crestwood estate. You were scheduled for an interview this morning for the bartender position, we noticed you missed it. Are you still available?”

My stomach dropped. The events since morning did not allow me to remember that I even had an appointment.

“I…I’m so sorry” I said quickly. “Something came up. I can still come, please.”

The pause following my response was long enough to feel that great opportunity slipping away.

“We’re still available. You must be here within the hour.”

“Yes.” I breathed, barely aware of my own words. “Thank you. I’ll be there.”

The call ended.

The taxi that approached me was a blur and it felt as though my legs were carrying me almost of their own accord.

“Crestwood Estate” I told the driver as I sat comfortably at the back seat.

We arrived within minutes. The popular Crestwood Estate rose ahead of me, intense with beauty. Gates black and polished, hedges clipped so tightly one could have thought it was carved from marble. I felt out of place in my dusty shoes and rumpled hair, clutching my bag like a lifeline.

A man in a tailored suit opened the gate. His eyes lingered on me for a few seconds then slid past me, uninterested.

He led me past the neat lawns and small gardens towards where a gigantic mansion stood. I followed him into the bar which seemed connected to the main house. The kitchen smelt of polished wood and alcohol. Behind a long desk, a woman in her forties regarded me with sharp calculating eyes over a thin rim of glasses.

“You’re applying for the position of a bartender, correct?” She asked, voice flat but inspecting.

“Yes.” My voice felt coarse compared to her smooth tone. “I am”.

She leaned back slightly. “This is a large household. Do you understand the role requires a lot of responsibility? You will manage drinks, stocks, and serve the family and their guests. You are also responsible when it comes to events hosted by the Crestwood family. And…” her lips pressed into a thin line. “You do realize this is traditionally a male role?” She said all at once not even giving me the chance to process one before another.

Heat climbed down my neck. “I…I understand,” I replied. “I’m capable ma’am. I promise to put in my best efforts.”

Her gaze didn’t soften. “Experience”?

“Yes”, I said, trying to sound steady. “I’ve worked in a restaurant before. I know drinks, cocktails, wines, and the like.”

She scribbled something on a notepad. “And being the only bartender here…are you comfortable with that?”

“I am” I answered without thinking. I was just bent on getting the huge salary that comes with it and pay for my grandfather’s bills.

She studied me a moment longer.

“The bar is an extension of the main mansion. Hence, this family’s private matters shouldn’t be heard outside. Discretion and professionalism are vital. Mistakes are not forgiven lightly.”

“I understand,” I replied.

“How do you act under pressure?” Her question landed like a spear.

My eyes shot up and met hers for the first time. I wondered how that question was related to the bartending work. Or maybe it was my swollen eyes that made her ask.

“Composure.” I answered. “I just maintain composure and remain silent.”

She seemed satisfied by my answer and leaned forward. “We have interesting temperaments in this household and we wouldn’t like to bring in more people with temper…that was the reason for my question.”

I merely nodded. “Yes ma’am”

“That will be all. Thank you for your time. We will contact you if you are chosen.

I forced a polite nod and backed away slowly.

The man in the tailored suit led me away. His shoes barely made a sound against the polished floor, while mine felt too loud like they were announcing that I didn’t belong.

The estate seemed to stretch endlessly as we approached the gate.

“Wait a moment” the man said calmly but authoritatively, putting his hands in front of me to stop me from moving any further.

I looked at him politely for an explanation. That was when I heard the low, synchronised hum of engines.

A line of black cars rolled in through the opposite entrance, moving with the kind of confidence money gave without apology.

“What’s happening?” I asked quietly, feeling foolish for even asking.

The man glanced at me, then back at the approaching convoy.

“The heir” he said. “He’s returned from the U.S. Came to see his father.”

“Oh”, I managed to say.

We stepped aside near the stone path, waiting as the cars continued forward.

One of the cars slowed.