Chapter 2:Caught in the Act

Dalia’s POV

I froze, staring down at the man now sprawled on the floor like a fallen tree.

Oh. My. God.

Did he just… pass out?

For a second, I just stood there—mouth slightly open, brain buffering. Then panic kicked in.

“Sir?” I whispered, poking his shoulder with one finger. No response.

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Was I about to go to jail for accidentally killing a drunk billionaire with my presence?

He groaned, turning his head slightly. Okay, thank God, still alive. Just… unconscious.

I knelt beside him, not sure if I should drag him, shake him, or call 911—or Jessie—or maybe my mom.

Why does adulting never prepare you for this kind of situation?!

“Sir, can you hear me?” I tried again, giving him a light tap on the cheek. His skin was warm.

And his face—wow, up close, he looked like trouble dressed in expensive cologne and bad decisions.

Sharp jawline, lashes too long for a man, and lips that looked like they could either insult you or kiss you, no in-between.

Ugh. Focus!

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts.

“Okay, mister drunk owner, please don’t sue me. I’m just gonna, um… move you to the couch. You know, so you don’t wake up with a neck injury or something.”

I hooked my arms under his, grunting as I tried to lift him.

Bad idea.

He was heavy—like, “gym membership and protein shake” heavy.

“Seriously, what do you eat? Bricks?” I muttered under my breath, struggling as his dead weight leaned against me.

And just when I thought I had him steady—he moved.

Not fully awake, just enough to mumble something in a deep, slurred voice.

“Smells… good,” he murmured.

I froze. Wait—what?!

“Excuse me?” I whispered, looking down. His face was dangerously close to my neck now.

“Your hair…” he mumbled again, half-asleep. “Smells nice…”

My brain short-circuited.

Did this drunk rich guy just—compliment my shampoo?

“Okay! You’re officially too close!” I said, trying to push him away, but instead, I lost my balance—and we both toppled onto the couch in the most awkward, slow-motion fall ever.

I landed on top of him, both of us tangled up, my face inches from his.

I could feel his slow, steady breathing against my cheek.

Great. Fantastic.

If anyone walked in right now, I’d look like the worst cleaner-slash-homewrecker in the history of cleaning services.

“Get it together, girl,” I muttered to myself as I scrambled off him, cheeks burning.

I stood up, brushing imaginary dust off my clothes like it could erase the embarrassment.

He just lay there, passed out again—completely unaware that he’d just ruined my dignity and my composure.

I sighed, crossing my arms.

“Rich people,” I mumbled. “They drink too much, pass out on couches, and make cleaners question their career choices.”

Still, as I looked at him—messy hair, shirt slightly unbuttoned, that annoyingly handsome face relaxed in sleep—I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and smile a little.

“Yup,” I said under my breath, “definitely trouble.”

-

“What? Her boyfriend was there?!” Jessie gasped on the phone after I told her everything.

“Yes!” I hissed back, glancing nervously at the couch where the so-called fiancé was sleeping soundly. “Good thing he was drunk and totally out of it. He fell asleep right after our little… confrontation.”

I looked at him again—snoring softly, one arm dangling off the couch. He looked so big and intimidating earlier, but now he was like a giant baby—one that could crush you with a single arm if he decided to wake up.

“You need to get out of there before he wakes up!” Jessie warned.

“I know! I’m leaving now. I just called to let you know what happened, so you can tell your boss before she wonders why her fiancé’s cleaner is currently trespassing in his condo.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell her. Ugh, she’s really something! I can’t believe she didn’t mention that her fiancé didn’t know about this arrangement.”

“Exactly! She’s going to get me in trouble one day. It’s bad enough that I’m here roaming around illegally —and now she’s trying to add breaking and entering to my résumé!”

Jessie sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, babe, I really didn’t know.”

“It’s fine,” I said, grabbing my bag. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Okay, I’m leaving now.”

With that, I ended the call and quietly slipped out of the unit, praying the sleeping giant wouldn’t wake up and scream “INTRUDER!” in his hangover haze.

By the time I reached the lobby, my heart had finally started to calm down. I went straight to the reception desk to pick up the ID I’d surrendered earlier.

But as I walked closer, I noticed two men standing by the counter—police officers.

My stomach dropped.

The receptionist spotted me, eyes widening slightly before pointing right at me.

“There she is, Officer. You can take her now.”

I froze. My feet refused to move.

Wait. What?!

The officers turned toward me and started walking over, their expressions serious.

“Ma’am, are you the owner of this ID?” one of them asked, holding up the laminated card.

My fake ID.

My mouth went dry. “Um… yes, sir.” My voice came out as more of a squeak.

“Do you have any other legal ID to prove your current status here?”

My mind went blank.

“Ha?” was all I managed to say.

The officer sighed. “Ma’am, I repeat—do you have any legal documents to prove your status in the country?”

I swallowed hard, my pulse thundering in my ears.

Oh no.

This is it.

This is how my story ends—not with romance, not with adventure—but with deportation and unpaid cleaning fees.

I forced a shaky smile. “Uh… would a membership card from Target count?”