THE MESSAGE

The sun was harsh 

It bled through the curtains, stinging my eyelids and piercing my skull. My lips were swollen, my thighs hurt and a throbbing headache my body ached and hurt in the best way possible.

The sheet reeked of sex, whiskey, and memories of last night and cologne that didn’t belong to me.

I groaned, rolling over 

Memories of last night hit me like a bomb, we went on and on until I cried and passed out. 

He was rough but not reckless, like he was taking his time I remembered how he patted me gently to sleep slowly taking off the blindfold.

The last thing I heard was, “Sleep Aaron, you earned it”

I showered, changed, and walked home through the quiet city streets, the envelope still heavy in my pocket.

By 3:30 a.m., I dropped onto my bed, exhausted.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I frowned and opened the message.

Thank you for your service tonight.

You were exceptional.

– Z

My heart stuttered.

My pulse actually jumped.

How did he get my number?

Before I could respond, another message appeared.

I have a job for you.

If you’re interested, come to this address tomorrow at 7 p.m.

A location link followed.

I tapped it and exhaled sharply.

It wasn’t just any place.

It was a mansion—one of the biggest on the outskirts of the city.

Private. Gated. Secluded.

The type owned by people whose bank accounts had no bottom.

And then the third message came.

See you soon, love.

Love?

LOVE?

I sat upright, staring at the screen.

“What the hell,” I whispered.

I typed back:

Who is this?

Delivered.

Read.

But no reply.

I tossed my phone aside and buried my face in my pillow.

My phone vibrated again I grabbed it expecting it to be the anonymous person but it was missed calls from Mira, my neighbor, and my landlord.

I wasn’t ready for my landlord's tantrums. 

Another message that hasn’t been read, I tapped on it.

“I liked watching you last night”

Watching me?

How? I thought the essence of Eden was discretion?

I looked around, trying to spot the cameras, but I saw nothing.

I stared at the message blankly until the screen dimmed.

Maybe it was someone from Eden, people get weird all the time. Or maybe someone I hooked up with was just trying to play a faster one on me.

Zayden wasn’t to be found either.

I tried to brush it off and Zayden too, treating it as someone from Eden noir, but my gut didn't believe me.

I booked an Uber and then went home, I went through my backyard to avoid my landlord. I owed six months’ rent and he said I either pay up or leave.

I stripped off my clothes and put on a robe, my stomach growled and all the thought went down the drain. I had only thirty dollars to my name, and I opened the fridge to see one can of soda, leftover rice that looked questionable, and half-used paste-tomato.

I slammed the fridge door shut, falling face-flat on the bed. I picked up my phone scrolling through job offers.

Nanny taking care of disabled child, “Nahh I’ll pass”.

Diner shifts, nahh.

I was about to shut my phone off when one offer shut me cold.

LIVE IN HOUSE KEEPER WANTED 

Full room, a weekly payment 

EMPLOYER: Z SLATE

LOCATION: PRIVATE ESTATE

I heard this somewhere, but I can’t remember where.

Quickly googled the place and name and it popped up.

“Z SLATE” right-hand man to ZAYDEN BLACKWELL

Owner of multiple companies and businesses, a conglomerate, and worldwide food chains and companies in Los Angeles 

ZAYDEN BLACKWELL

It couldn’t be, the first name was familiar did I actually get fucked by the most wanted and popular man in Los Angeles?

“OMG”

I went back to the ad, no picture just an email to contact.

My phone dinged again from the anonymous number.

“See you soon” “Aaron.”

Way to forget about the stalker, I rolled my eyes.

As much as I don’t want it my landlord is on my neck right now Don't have a choice, suddenly I feel like I’m being watched. My robe felt thin, my room felt smaller.

“I am interested”, I typed back to the email.

I got a reply almost immediately

“Interview tomorrow by 10am, with the address attached”

The address was what I thought, the Los Angeles Z mansion. Which is owned by ZAYDEN BLACKWELL., No wonder they asked for discretion. 

Zayden Blackwell has never been seen, no pictures, no number just empty. He was always in the shadows while his secretary worked for him.

Whispers on the street that he is ugly, some say he’s old and wrinkly some say he’s disabled. That’s why he never shows his face.

I scattered my wardrobe looking for what to wear to the interview, I need to look my best.

I picked out a black tank top, a low-rise flared jeans, and black Prada loafers. 

I always invested in my looks, which was half the reason why I was broke. I wasn’t about to look bad for my first interview. 

If I were going to live in his house, he had to accept my style.

My phone buzzes again.

“You’ll look good there”.

What the actual fuck was going on? 

Someone was watching me, knows my name, knows where I live, and even has my number and I don’t know who this is.

I thought of calling Mira but my girl needs to rest and not worry about me, it’s obviously my rent I was very sure my landlord banged on my door this morning.

I hope I get the job tomorrow That's the only thing my hopes are on, one thousand dollars a week could change my life, imagine working for months? And still not paying rent?

I let my imagination run wild, before sleep came, dragging me in.