Chapter 1

Sienna's pov

I sat down, legs sprawled on the couch. My phone vibrated beside me as notifications poured in, the constant beeping quickly becoming irritating. By the tenth alert, I was ready to throw the damned thing across the room.

Again, I was surrounded by talking morons, their voices overlapping in on me. Miss do this, miss do that, miss you must protect your reputation. Miss, miss, miss.

“Enough!” I barked, standing, hands trembling from controlled rage. “All of you, get out!”

The office went silent instantly, everyone exchanging nervous glances, as if they had seen a ghost. They had never seen me like this, utterly exhausted.

“But miss, you're in a dire situation. We are merely trying to—”

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

They hesitated, weighing whether to continue with their complaints or leave. Ultimately, they decided and scurried out, leaving behind a disorganized stack of documents on my desk.

Incompetent.

I flipped the documents onto the floor, letting them scatter lazily, then slumped back into the couch and picked up my phone. As expected, the internet had already erupted.

I had somehow made the headlines, again, this time for changing my manager. The celebrity gossip article read: “Our Hollywood queen just made another disastrous move! She changed her manager. Again!”

The comments were predictable: “Hollywood queen? More like a disaster queen.”

“So unmanageable. She should leave the industry.”

“At this stage, no one will hire her. She is insufferable!”

I slammed my phone down.

Managers didn’t need to be from poor backgrounds, nor did other employees. My former manager was apparently the son of a wealthy businessman, choosing to work for his own means rather than relying on his inheritance. Such a heartwarming narrative for a thoroughly useless character.

I fired him, and he took his grievance to the internet.

The crowd latched onto his story because it sounded very common. Hardworking scion versus the “ungrateful, unmanageable” celebrity.

They wanted someone to pity, and it didn't help that no one was pleased that I’d taken the role of Cecilia Hartwell in our upcoming series, Eclipsed Hearts, from Marissa Cutler.

Now that I had no manager, the PR team decided to overwhelm me with unnecessary information. They couldn’t even handle a day without a manager?

“Looks like I’ll have to make the headlines again tomorrow.” I muttered, picking up my phone. My eyes scanned my contact list for the PR team leader.

I dialed her number, and it connected almost immediately. “Hello, ma’am, do you wish—”

“Fire the entire PR team. Get those useless, incompetent, cluster-fucking, pathetic sacks of shit the hell out of my office, and hire new ones.”

I heard her suck in a breath.

“Al.. Alright ma'm.” The team leader rasped, her voice barely audible .

I sneered, not only did the managers not feign support but even the PR, incompetent fame-hungry mongers!

My lashes lowered as I caught sight of an old picture on my phone. It was a picture of myself and my best friend. My rage slowly faltered , a mix of nostalgia and pain sipping right into me .

My best friend? I smiled self-deprecatingly , the same friend that took photos of me in my very vulnerable state and shared them on the web ? The one who would stop at nothing to see me at my worst.

I have been stupid , so stupid to trust her. My future , my hardwork , everything all came crashing down because of her . I cried for days on the internet trying to justify the photos saying I didn't know how it was taken .

Everyone called me a whore , sleeping to get minor roles. I was brutally assaulted for being a ‘ pretentious lotus’ and that –is because I blindly trusted Clare Jackson.

I scoffed –bitterly. She failed , I made a comeback, I won, I proved to the world that my worth was not measured by just a few compromising pictures.

My eyes welled up with unshed tears , a deep fruity scent hit me, making me scrunch my nose . It was the same as Claire's perfume , the one she wore when she spiked my drink , “ let's celebrate your little wins” she had said .

A bitter taste spread through my tongue , the feeling sipping down to my heart. Little wins ? And with just that , she drugged me , took photos to her satisfaction and uploaded them .

My fingers hung mid-air , my gaze on the delete button, it was the last picture of us. She wore a pink dress and a blue princess tie. Her features were delicate , her eyes round and a huge smile . She looked happy — happily destroying me .

I pressed the delete button instantly with the same eagerness she had used to upload my pictures .

My phone vibrated

A notification…

I sniffled in my pain, swiping the memory lane away and tapping on the notification. Don't tell me the PR team was quick to cry on the internet this time, I must say that would be too fast .

“I wish to work as your live-in maid” the message read .

Oh indeed , I used the identity of a mere model to request for a live-in maid, I wanted someone to help me handle my house while I get busy with work .

“ A picture and a resume” I requested, awaiting a reply.

After some time, a picture popped up on my phone. My eyes widened, my hands trembled a bit , my eyes darted from the picture to the sender's name.

What ?!

I requested for a live-in maid, not–not this ! It was a man maybe in his late twenties. He looked simple but that wasn't the case . He was brutally handsome. His jaws were well sculpted, his collar bones well defined . He emanated a certain aura of dominance that even simple clothing couldn't completely mask .

I wanted a woman , preferably old or middle-aged, not …this !

I stared at the picture for a long time, contemplating whether to accept him or dismiss him . He was simply …too handsome for this kind of role . With his beauty and physique, he could easily elevate to be a model . Why did he want to be a mere maid? A cheap maid ??

I flicked my tongue, my eyes flashing with a dark light. There was only one way to find out …

Accept him

“ Block 63 , Brooklyn street. That's where I live , let's meet there” I dropped and threw my phone on the sofa .

“ Okay , uhm..thank you , I am eager to work with you” the message read .

My face darkened , eager ? To work with me ? Isn't that the same way Claire had been eager to be my best friend back in high school? A dark light flashed on my face, my expression tight .

One thing is having him work for me, the other is trusting him . Unfortunately, trust is a certain kind of luxury that even I couldn't afford .

If he had any ulterior motives , it won't be like the last time. This time , the game will be mine ,I will make the tides turn in my favour!