Dumped Yesterday, Owned by My ex's Mafia Uncle Today
The maid grabbed a fistful of my gold-brown hair, yanking my head back.
"What? Still daydreaming about being Mr. Marlowe's escort?" she sneered, opening another can with a sharp crack before tossing it at me. "You're nothing but a cheap pet, worth less than his dog."
I bit my lips to hold back my tears. Above me, footsteps sounded, measured, deliberate, and far too heavy to belong to the younger maids.
Is it Noah?
I dared to hope.
The door swung open.
In waddled the head maid, Fidelia, the middle-aged woman with a pinched face and a body thickened by years of idleness.