Chapter 2 - I'll Take it

Aria's POV 

Three days later, a woman in a tailored black coat found me at the diner where I washed dishes for cash under the table.

I was elbow-deep in greasy water when the front door opened and the temperature in the small, steamy kitchen seemed to drop. The woman who entered did not belong there. Her coat looked like it cost more than the diner made in a month. Her shoes were the kind that never touched dirty sidewalks if they could help it. She scanned the room once, then fixed her gaze on me with the precision of someone who already knew exactly who she was looking for.

“Aria Morales?”

The sound of my full name in that calm, professional voice made my hands go still in the water. No one used my full name unless they wanted something, and people who wanted something from girls like me rarely brought good news.

I dried my hands on the stained apron and stepped out from behind the counter. “Yes.”

She smiled without warmth. “My name is Mrs. Lang. I work for the Vance family. Mr. Julian Vance requested that we locate you. Mrs. Evelyn Vance survived because of your donation. The family would like to offer you employment as a live-in domestic staff member. Full room and board, competitive wages, and medical coverage.”

I almost laughed. The sound caught in my throat. People like me did not get medical coverage. We got emergency rooms and payment plans we could never finish.

“Why?” I asked. The word came out sharper than I intended.

“Because Mr. Vance insisted.” Her smile tightened almost imperceptibly. “The position starts immediately if you accept. You would have your own room, meals provided, and a salary deposited weekly. In return, you would be expected to maintain the highest standards of discretion and service.”

I thought of the shelter. The cold nights when the heat barely worked. The way my stomach twisted every morning when I counted the last crumpled dollars in my pocket. I thought of my mother’s voice in the final weeks of her illness, telling me over and over that surviving was its own kind of victory, even when it didn’t feel like one.

“I’ll take it,” I said before I could talk myself out of it.

Mrs. Lang nodded as if she had expected nothing less. “A car will pick you up this afternoon. Pack whatever you need. The rest will be provided.”

That same afternoon I stood in front of a mansion on the Gold Coast that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread about people who never worried about rent. White stone. Tall windows that reflected the gray Chicago sky. A front door that probably cost more than every apartment I had ever lived in combined. The lake glittered in the distance like something that belonged to a different world entirely.

Mrs. Lang led me through a side entrance, past a kitchen that sparkled under recessed lighting, and up a narrow staircase reserved for staff. The room she showed me was small and clean, tucked under the eaves. A single bed with white sheets. A dresser that looked older than me. A window that looked out over the alley instead of the lake. It was still the nicest place I had slept in years.

“Dinner is at seven,” Mrs. Lang said, already turning toward the door. “Uniforms are in the closet. Mrs. Vance expects absolute silence and perfection. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not make eye contact unless necessary. And never, under any circumstances, enter the main living areas without permission. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

That night I met Evelyn Vance for the first time.

She was beautiful in the way expensive knives are beautiful—elegant, perfectly maintained, and capable of cutting deep with very little effort. Silver-streaked dark hair pulled into a flawless twist. A cream silk blouse that made my uniform look even cheaper by comparison. Eyes that assessed me in one long second and found me lacking in every category that mattered to her.

“So you’re the girl who saved my life,” she said. Her voice was smooth as glass and twice as cold. “How fortunate for you.”

I kept my gaze lowered the way Mrs. Lang had instructed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You will address me as Mrs. Vance at all times. You will work harder than you have ever worked in your life. You will be invisible unless I require otherwise. And if you disappoint me even once…” She smiled then, a small, precise curve of the lips that never reached her eyes. “We will revisit this arrangement. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mrs. Vance.”

Somewhere deeper in the house, a younger woman’s laugh rang out—bright, sharp, and already carrying an edge of cruelty even though I hadn’t met her yet. I would learn her name soon enough. Sienna Vance. The adopted daughter. The one who smiled while she ruined people for sport.

I unpacked my single duffel bag in the tiny room after Mrs. Lang left. Two pairs of jeans. Three shirts. The photograph of my mother I kept wrapped in an old sweater. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my hands for a long time.

I had given my blood to save a woman who already looked at me like I was something she had scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

I wondered, not for the first time, if the universe had a particularly cruel sense of humor.

Outside, the Chicago wind howled between the tall buildings. Inside, the house settled around me like a beautiful, expensive trap.

I lay down on the clean sheets and tried not to think about cold blue eyes that had asked me why.

Sleep did not come easily.