CHAPTER 12

Elena's POV

Moving didn't feel like a movie; it just felt fast.

By Wednesday afternoon, Chloe’s surgery was over. The doctor came out to the waiting room to give me the news himself: the new kidney was working, and she was stable. I felt so relieved my knees almost gave out right there in the hallway. But there wasn't time to sit around. By Thursday evening, I was packing everything I owned into three cardboard boxes.

My phone rang as I taped the last box shut in my tiny apartment. It was Maya.

"Hey," Maya said when I picked up. She sounded out of breath. "Are you still at your place? I came by to drop off those soup containers, but there’s a big black SUV parked in the alley."

I swallowed hard, looking around my empty living room. "Yeah, I'm just wrapping things up inside. Come on up."

A minute later, Maya walked through the door. Her eyes went straight from my bare walls to the three boxes on the floor. She set the plastic containers on the counter and turned to me, her forehead lined with worry.

"Elena... what is this?" Maya asked, pointing at the boxes. "Are you moving? You didn't say anything about moving when we talked yesterday."

"It happened really fast," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "My boss... Mr. Wyatt... changed my job duties a bit. I need to be on-call for work, so he's providing a place closer to the office."

Maya stared at me for a few long seconds. She stepped closer and looked at my face. "Working closer to your job? Since when does an entry-level job come with a free apartment? Elena, is everything okay? You look exhausted, and you're moving out in the middle of the week."

"Everything is fine, Maya. I promise," I said, putting a hand on her arm. I hated lying to her. The NDA paper was sitting in my bag, reminding me that I couldn't say a word, but seeing her worry made my stomach turn. "Chloe's surgery went really well yesterday. The deposit went through, and she’s recovering in the room right now."

"I know, and I'm so glad about that," Maya said softly, leaning in to give me a tight hug. "I just worry about you. You always try to do everything by yourself. Just promise me you aren't doing anything crazy."

"I'm not," I lied quietly, hugging her back. "I'll call you as soon as I settle in. I promise."

Two minutes later, Oliver’s driver, Thomas, loaded my boxes into the back of the SUV. I took one last look at my small apartment, locked the door, and handed the keys to the landlord downstairs.

The penthouse was huge.

It took up the whole top floor of a tall building downtown. Huge glass windows looked out over the city lights. Everything inside was modern and clean—gray marble, dark wood, and simple furniture.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Wyatt," a warm voice called out as the elevator doors opened into the hallway.

An older woman with gray hair pulled into a neat bun walked over. She wore a simple blue apron over a white shirt, and she had a kind smile.

"Oh, please just call me Elena," I said quickly, putting my purse down on the table. "You must be..."

"Martha," she said, holding out her hand. I shook it right away. "I do the cleaning and cooking around here. Though Mr. Oliver mostly lives on black coffee and take-out when he's working late on his tech business."

I let out a quiet laugh. "That sounds like him."

Martha’s eyes softened as she looked at me, taking in my plain clothes and tired face. She didn't look at me like a stranger, and she wasn't overly formal either. She just seemed nice.

"I put your things in the main suite like he asked," Martha said, picking up my light bag before I could stop her. "And Mr. Oliver gave me clear instructions about your sister coming next week. The whole east wing has been cleaned up and prepared for her medical stuff. Her room gets a lot of morning sun, which will be nice for her recovery."

My chest felt tight. "He... he already set up her room?"

"He did," Martha nodded, walking me down a wide hallway. "He might look quiet and serious, child, but he pays attention to things. Now come on. You look like you haven't eaten a real meal in days. I made some chicken soup, and you're going to sit down and eat before you touch any of those boxes."

I followed her into the kitchen. The smell of hot food made the huge penthouse feel a little less cold.

Sitting at the counter while Martha poured me a bowl of soup, I let out a long breath. I knew this whole arrangement was strange, but as I ate, I felt like maybe I could survive it.