Chapter 3

OLIVIA POV

"Argh, this stupid alarm. Why didn't I turn it off?"

I rolled over, tangling my legs in my oversized duvet. I wasn't going anywhere today, so why was my alarm going off? I picked up my phone and silenced it with my eyes half closed.

Then I grabbed my pillow and rolled to the middle of the bed.

And froze.

Wait. What was that?

I opened my eyes fully and lifted the phone closer to my face. My heart stopped before my brain could catch up.

Congratulations. We are pleased to inform you that your application has been successful…

"What?" I whispered.

I blinked. Read it again. And again.

My breath hitched. I sat straight up so fast the sheets slid off my legs.

"Oh my God." I stood up as I scrolled, my eyes racing over the words. "Oh my God, OH MY GOD!"

I jumped out of bed, clutching my phone like it might disappear if I let go. Laughter bubbled out of me, wild and uncontrollable, as I spun around my room.

"I got the job! I actually got it!"

I caught my reflection in the mirror. Messy hair, bare feet, eyes wide awake. I had never looked happier in my life. It wasn't the museum job, but it was a job, and right now it felt like I had won the world.

They said I could start today.

Unlike usual, I got dressed in record time. I straightened my posture in the mirror and put on a serious face. Then I burst out laughing at how silly I looked trying to be serious. 

"You can do it. You're awesome," I whispered, tapping my head gently. I gave my reflection a reassuring smile and left my room.

Downstairs, Ms Susie was already in the kitchen, wiping down the counter. She was the only maid we had left, and honestly, the only reason this house still felt like a home.

"Good morning, Miss Olivia. You're up early." She studied my face and smiled. "And you look happy."

"I got the job, Miss Susie!"

"Oh, sweetheart!" She clasped her hands together. "I knew you would. Sit, sit. Let me make you something proper. Eggs, toast, maybe pancakes?"

"No, no, don't worry. I'm fine." I picked up a few strawberries from the bowl on the counter. "I'll just have these."

"A few strawberries is not breakfast."

"It is today."

She shook her head, but she poured me a glass of milk anyway and set it down beside me. Sweet, juicy, familiar. Comfort food. I ate calmly, but my mind wasn't there. My eyes kept drifting toward the staircase.

The house felt quiet.

Too quiet.

"Where's Dad?" I asked. "I wanted to tell him the news."

Her hands paused on the counter. Only for a second, but I noticed.

"Your father went out early this morning," she said gently. "Before the sun was even up."

"Did he say where?"

"No, dear. He just took his keys and left."

I nodded slowly and washed down the last strawberry with the milk.

He had said he wanted to talk to me last night. It was important. Important enough that he had said it twice. We'll talk later.

But there was no note. No message. Nothing.

It felt like something had been hovering in the air, waiting to land. I shook it off and forced a breath. Today was supposed to be a good day. My day. My new beginning.

"Thank you, Ms Susie. I'll see you tonight."

"Good luck, my dear," she called after me.

Still, as I stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind me, one thought followed me down the steps:

Whatever he wants to tell me, it isn't small.

And somehow, I knew it was going to change everything.

Thankfully, the gym wasn't far, so I walked. My mind wandered the whole way. My first paycheck. Compliments on my hard work. Maybe even my dream job at a museum someday.

And, I admitted with a smile, a lot of hot guys worked out at that gym. I laughed at how pathetic I sounded. But I hadn't even had time to think about Jack which was good. He was dead to me, and I had too much to worry about.

It took about twenty minutes to get to the gym. I took a deep breath at the entrance and walked in with a soft smile.

I scanned the room for faces I knew. Someone from the galas. A friend of Jack's. Anyone who would recognize the girl whose father had lost everything. Nobody. Good.

The place was alive. Machines humming, music pulsing, bodies moving. This wasn't just a job. It was a way to stay afloat.

I went to the front desk. "Good morning."

The receptionist looked up, her smile polite and practiced, exactly the same as yesterday. "Good morning."

"I'm Olivia. Today's my first day."

Her fingers paused over the keyboard. "Oh, yes. One moment."

She picked up the phone and spoke softly. I stood with my hands clasped together, forcing myself not to fidget, and looked around to soak it all in.

"You can go through," she said. "The manager will meet you."

"Thank you."

I walked toward the office. People moved with purpose, lifting, running, pushing their limits.

Right before the manager's office, a woman holding a clipboard stopped me.

"Olivia?"

"Yes."

"I'm the floor manager. Welcome," she said, her tone calm. "Congratulations on the position."

"Thank you." I gripped my bag tighter.

She gestured for me to walk with her. "You'll be working as a Member Services Associate. Your job for now is to observe the floor, assist members when needed, and make sure everyone feels comfortable and safe."

She pointed subtly as we walked. "If someone looks lost, you help. If there's a complaint, you listen. If there's an issue you can't handle, you report it."

I nodded, taking it all in.

"This position requires attention," she added. "You're here to notice the things others ignore."

That settled deep in my chest.

I've been noticing things my whole life. My father's behavior since Mom died the unspoken grief we never talk about. 

She stopped walking. "Today, you'll mostly observe. Learn the flow. Ask questions if you need to."

"Yes, ma'am. Who do I ask?"

"Charles." She pointed toward a blond, long-haired man holding a giant weight above another man who looked seconds from passing out. I nodded.

After showing me the equipment room and the other areas, she handed me a gym t-shirt and left. Just like that, I was on my own.

I changed, then walked the floor slowly, offering towels, answering small questions, and smiling whenever someone spoke to me. On the outside, I looked calm. Capable.

Inside, I was fixed on one thing: not making a mistake.

Charles found me near the water station an hour in, a towel slung over his shoulder.

"You must be the new girl," he said, grinning. "Charles. Don't let the muscles scare you. I'm harmless."

"Olivia."

"Rule one, Olivia. Rich people don't ask for help, they demand it. Smile, nod, and never take it personally."

"Noted."

"Rule two. Never touch the blue dumbbells. Ask me why and I'll tell you the story someday."

I laughed, and something in my chest loosened. Maybe this place wouldn't be so bad.

By the time I settled into the rhythm of the gym, my nerves had eased a little. Like I had been told, I observed, offered towels, and asked polite questions. Most people barely noticed me, which was fine. Less pressure.

Except…

Him.

I felt it before I saw it. A shift in the air. The faint, familiar sce

nt of cologne. The uncomfortable feeling of being watched.

Slowly, I turned around.