The Billionaire's Dirty Secrets

Calla Moreno's pov

The ringtone jolted me out of the worst nap ever—face stuck to the couch cushion, neck bent at a death angle, my jeans half-unzipped because I'd passed out mid-N*****x binge. I blinked at the cracked phone screen vibrating in my hand.

Unknown number.

"Ugh." I rolled onto my side, throat dry, heart pounding for no reason. Could be spam. Or worse—him.

I hesitated. Then swiped to answer.

"Hello?"

"Miss Moreno?" A deep, clipped male voice. Cool. Unfamiliar.

"Speaking," I said, sitting up. My voice sounded rough, like I smoked a pack a day and hated myself.

"This is Vexley Estate. You applied for a domestic position?"

I froze. The live-in housekeeper ad. The one with no listed name, no posted salary, just a vague "high compensation for discretion and loyalty" vibe. I applied half as a joke. Half out of desperation.

"I—yeah. I did."

"You've been selected. Position begins tomorrow morning. Transportation will arrive at 8 AM sharp. Pack light."

Wait. That was it?

"Uh, sorry, what? I got the job?"

"Correct. Full instructions will be provided on arrival."

"I mean, don’t you need to meet me? Interview me? What about references?"

The voice paused. Then, colder: "We don't require references. Only silence."

That gave me chills. Literal goosebumps prickled down my arms.

"Right. Okay. Sure. I’ll be ready." What the hell was I saying?

The call ended. Just like that.

I stared at my phone. The silence in my tiny studio felt too loud now—just the hum of the busted fridge and my heart thudding like I’d agreed to sell a kidney.

###################

“You’re telling me you said yes? To a job where you don’t even know the employer’s name?” Jade’s voice exploded from the other end of the line like a panicked best friend alarm.

I’d barely explained anything. I hadn’t even packed yet.

“Yes.”

“Calla.”

“I need the money.”

“You need a damn therapist! What if it’s some Eyes Wide Shut situation? You’ll end up chained in a basement with a freakin’ golden mask on your face.”

“I mean... there are worse things,” I muttered under my breath, tossing shirts into my duffel bag without folding them.

“Not funny.”

“I’m kidding.” (Sort of.) “It’s just cleaning. Live-in staff. Big house, rich owner, don’t ask questions, blah blah. It’s probably just an eccentric old billionaire who doesn’t want to die alone.”

“Or it’s a crime syndicate and you’re the new girl they’ll chop up for spare parts.”

“God, Jade.”

“Don’t God me! You’ve been MIA for six months. Then you pop up with some mystery mansion job and expect me not to freak out? You still won’t even tell me what happened with Evan.”

I went quiet.

She knew that tone. She sighed.

“Okay. Okay. Sorry. Just—don’t go alone.”

“I’m already alone.”

“You know what I mean. You still have time to back out.”

I zipped the bag up hard. “I’m going.”

“Fine. Then I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not invited.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“And you’re being reckless.”

I sank onto the edge of my bed, picking at a loose thread on my jeans. “Look, I’m not gonna be a maid forever. I just… need a reset. No past, no Evan, no cops, no rent due every fifteen minutes.”

Her silence was heavier this time.

“Fine,” she said. “But promise me something.”

“Name it.”

“If anything feels off… anything… you call me. You don’t stay quiet. You don’t freeze up. You run.”

I let the silence sit for a beat too long.

“Calla?” Her voice cracked a little.

“I’ll call.”

“You swear?”

I looked at the tiny pill bottle I hadn’t touched in three weeks.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I swear.”

There was another pause. Then Jade’s voice dropped low. Quiet. Like she was about to say something she really didn’t want to say.

“...Calla?”

“Yeah?”

She hesitated.

“What if the man who hired you is him?”