8

Chapter 8

Adrian’s POV

Outside the office, I was so ashamed of being an ex-convict. I entered a taxi back to my apartment in frustration.

When I got to my apartment, I was tired, my hands were shaking to get my keys from my bag. I opened the door and walked in my small one-room space.

The walls cracks can be seen at the edges, the paint peels off when touched, and the air is damp.

There was no furniture. Just a tiny bed on the floor that was in the apartment before I came in. Everything inside felt abandoned—just like me.

My back leaned on the door, then I slid down till I was sitting on the cold floor thinking of what next to do with my miserable life.

The silence in the room feels heavier than the shouting I received earlier this morning. When people yelled at me, It's better, I hide behind my anger and fight back in my mind.

But this silence filled my chest like a burden that is stuck, reminding me of things I had lost.

Pink.

Her name resounded in my head, it was loud like a prayer I don’t want to stop saying. I held my face with my hands, but the tears kept falling through.

I still feel her tiny hands around me, her warm little body pinned on my chest like she needed me. And when she looked at me with those trusting eyes it was filled with so much love.

“God,” I whispered into the empty room. My voice cracked. “She felt like… she felt like…”

The words broke apart in my throat. I couldn’t finish the thought because I knew what it meant. Holding her felt like holding my own daughter.

But that couldn’t be real. The doctors had told me my baby was gone. The police told me they buried her. It's been three years now and I grieved for a child I never held, never kissed, never even saw.

And yet—there was Pink.

I got up from the floor and went to the small window that barely held me. Outside, there were old houses, brick walls, trash cans, and passerby.

But I barely noticed the view. My mind was clouded with what had happened earlier. Pink reached for me like she had known me all her life. And how she held me tight even when Darcy tried to pull her back.

Darcy.

My stomach churned as I remembered how his eyes were on me filled with disgust, his lips curled like I was poison.

“Ex-convict,” he had called me, like that was all I’d ever be.

And he wasn’t wrong—not on paper. I was an ex-inmate. A woman who had stripped to survive. A record with my name stamped across it, warning everyone to stay away.

But I wasn’t the monster those papers said I was.

That thought lit a spark inside me. Anger. It was familiar, burning, almost comforting. Anger meant I was still fighting. And anger always led me back to Martin.

Martin. My ex-lover, he made me believe living happily ever after was a thing. The man I thought would love me, protect me. Instead he sold my body for money, framed me of drugs, destroyed me and ruined my life.

Flashbacks came in—how Martins’ betrayed me, that birthday night when everything shattered, the baby I never got to hold.

My legs gave out, and I sat on my small bed. Staring at the water stains on the ceiling.

The thought of running away came again, soft but steady. Use the little money I had, cut my hair or dye it, change my name, and live another life.

But I knew better. Officer Chen would find me in a heartbeat. The parole system didn’t let people like me disappear. Where would I go if I run? No family, no friends, no one.

I was trapped. Trapped in this room. Trapped in a life I never chose. Trapped by chains that weren’t mine but I had to carry anyway.

A weep tore out of me before I could hold it back. Then another, and another. Soon, my whole body shook as I cried. The tears poured until I could hardly breathe. I cried for the job I had lost before it even began. I cried for the girl, who might forget me tomorrow. I cried for my dead child, whose face I never saw and I never held in my hands.

But mostly, I cried for myself. For the girl I was before I met Martin, before prison, before the world showed me I was worthless.

I changed into the clothes on the bed while I wept. I sat down there for a long time. The room got dark as it was already nightfall, but I didn't turn on the lamp. Why would I? Tomorrow there would be more rejections, humiliations, and pretends I wasn’t breaking apart inside.

Then came the knock.

Three sharp knocks. Firm. Demanding.

I woke up. The sunlight burned in my eyes.

My heart slammed in my chest. My thoughts scattered in every direction—police, Officer Chen, or worse… Martin.

I prayed they would just leave me alone. But this time the knocking came louder again.

“Ms. Martinez? I know you’re in there.”

The voice was male. Calm. Not cruel, not kind—professional. A voice used to be obeyed.

My body trembled, I wiped my face and moved myself to the door. My fingers opened the lock. I can’t leave who is standing outside there knocking and they don't want to leave

I took a deep breath as I stood there, then opened the door.

And there he was.

Darcy Rodrigo.

He stood in the dim hallway, dressed in a sharp suit that is obviously out of place inside of the rundown building. His dark eyes scanned my whole body. His eyes flicker with surprise. Soft looks.

Heat rushed to my face. I was standing in front of him with bare legs, messy hair, and an old oversized t-shirt with shorts that didn’t cover my laps. I felt smaller and exposed. His eyes lingered on my legs before he quickly traced it back to my face.

“Mr. Rodrigo,” I whispered, with a shaky voice. “What are you doing here?”

“May I come in?” His tone was calm this time, still controlled—but not cold.

With yesterday's incident I wanted to shut the door on him and tell he should leave me alone.

But something in his expression stopped me. Today, there was no hatred in his eyes. No judgment. Just something that looked almost like regret.

I stepped aside, embarrassed as he walked into my tiny apartment. The no furniture, the thin walls, the smell of my neighbor’s cooking sneaking in—it all felt exposed under his presence.

Darcy looked around quietly before facing me again. We stared at each other for a while.

He clears his throat, “I’m going to hire you,” he said at last. His words echoed in the room without furniture.

I blinked. “What?”

“The nanny job. It’s yours.” His jaw tightened. “But only under one condition.”

My chest tightened. “What condition?”

“You’ll be closely watched. A bodyguard will follow you everywhere. Inside the mansion. Outside. Day and night.” His dark eyes met mine. “If anything happens to my daughter, you’ll pay.Do you understand?”

The threat hit me hard. I should have been furious, pissed. I should have told him to take his job and leave my apartment that I can manage. But all I could think of was his daughter. How she smiled at me and her little voice calling out for me.

The silence was longer this time. There was tension in his eyes, the way his hands were tight,like he was holding himself back.

I couldn't ask him.

“Why?” I asked softly. “Why give me this chance?”

His voice turned cold again. “Because my daughter won’t stop crying for you. That’s the only reason. This is practical, nothing more.”

But deep inside, I felt there was more. There was something he wasn’t ready to admit.

I nodded slowly. “I understand.”

“Good.” He walked closer to the door and paused holding on the door handle. "Resume work tomorrow. Seven sharp. Don’t make me regret this.”

And then he left, not looking back. I locked the door at once.

I stood there, my heart pounding. I didn’t know if this was supposed to be a good news, Darcy coming down here himself to offer me a job or if I had stepped into the biggest mistake of my life.