Chapter 3

She kept going. "Calvin said you're REALLY good at it. You don't mind letting me try, do you?"

I was ready to shut it down—hard—when another transfer lit up my screen.

Calvin.

Note: [For your trouble.]

Nice. The kind of tip they usually toss to a maid.

Guess I'd officially been downgraded—Mrs. Buxton, now playing the help.

I let out a dry laugh, hung up, and accepted the cash.

Divorce was coming anyway.

Might as well get paid while I still had the title.

By the time I got to the hotel with the soup, it was 2 a.m.

The suite door was cracked open—like they'd been expecting me.

I stepped onto the plush carpet, and there it was—Gianna's voice, floating out.

"Calvin, I heard that when Ms. Astor's mom died, you held her on the bed all night. Is that true? Did you fall in love with her?"

I froze. Barely breathed.

I'd already made up my mind to leave.

Didn't stop my heart from pounding like a drumline.

That night came rushing back—the storm, the silence, the way I let myself believe I'd found love.

'Calvin... do you even remember?'

Inside, he was by the window, staring out at the rain. Lost in it.

Just like he was that night. Six months ago.

Gianna nudged him, all whiny and impatient. "Calvin, you still haven't answered me."

He blinked, snapping back. His voice was calm, but it hit like a slap.

"No... I just felt sorry for her. Like I would for a stray cat or dog. That's all."

Crash.

The container slipped from my hands. Soup everywhere.

All eyes turned.

Calvin stepped out first, freezing when he saw me.

"You... When did you get here?"

I didn't answer. Just knelt down and started cleaning.

Calvin frowned and crouched next to me. Reached out to help.

I flinched without thinking. Pulled back.

His hand froze midair, then dropped like nothing happened.

But Gianna saw. Of course she did. Her eyes lit up with that petty flash of jealousy.

She grabbed her designer bag, pulled out a bill, and dangled it in front of me. "Ms. Astor, thanks for your trouble. Here's your delivery fee."

That bill didn't just float down—it hit my pride like a slap.

Back when my mom was sick, I swallowed every bit of pride just to keep her alive.

Now that she was gone? The humiliation stayed exactly the same.

I gave a bitter little smile. "Thanks."

Took the money. Turned to leave.

Calvin grabbed my wrist. His voice sharp. "You're not angry at all?"

My eyes flickered.

Angry? At what?

Or maybe the better question—do I even get to be?

To him, I was just a stray he felt like rescuing.

A project. A pity case.

When he felt generous, he kept me.

When he didn't, I was disposable.

"I should go. It's late."

Knowing my place never bought me kindness.

Calvin blocked the door, eyes shadowed. "You didn't used to be like this."

"And you didn't used to just stand there while people bullied me."

Two years ago, one of his cousins called me cheap trash in public.

Calvin kicked him out of the company. Banned him from ever showing his face around me.

A year ago, someone shoved me into a pool at a business event.

Calvin jumped in after him—held the guy underwater till security pulled them apart.

He never loved me. But back then, at least, he protected me.

He remembered, too. His hand clenched awkwardly at his side. "I..."

But I was done rewinding the tape.

I gave them both a polite smile and walked out.