A loud, violent knock shook my door.
Boom! Boom!! Boom!!!
I groaned softly, my head pounding as though someone had been beating drums inside my skull.
"Who could be knocking like this?" I whispered to myself, still buried inside sleep.
My eyelids felt glued shut.
My head was throbbing.
My body felt strangely heavy and warm.
The knock came again—harder, angrier, without a single pause.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
"Ahh…" I winced, forcing my eyes open even though everything was spinning.
I turned to check the time on my small phone beside the bed.
12:17PM.
My eyes widened instantly.
"Oh no!" I gasped and jumped out of bed so fast that I nearly slipped.
I rushed to the door, still half asleep, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand…
And the moment I pulled the door open—
WHOOSH—PAH!!
A hot, fiery slap landed across my face.
I stumbled backward, holding my cheek.
My eyes shot open fully this time.
Sylvia stood there, staring at me with her usual demonic glare—eyes cold, lips curled with wickedness, arms akimbo as though she had been waiting all morning for this moment.
I felt the burning on my cheeks immediately.
Heat. Sharp. Stinging.
Tears sprung instantly but refused to fall.
She stepped closer, her voice filled with venom.
"So this is what you've turned into, right? You now have wings in this house? Extra wings you're not even supposed to have?"
My heart beat as though it wanted to run away.
"You think because everyone is suddenly treating you nicely, you can now sleep till past twelve?"
Her voice rose even higher.
"You don't even know who you are again? You are letting your slave nature confuse you?"
I swallowed hard, staring at her feet, my cheek burning under her blow.
"Are you actually kidding me, Chantel? SLEEPING? By this time?"
I bowed my head deeper. I knew better than to talk back—especially when Sylvia was in this mood.
She scoffed loudly, shaking her head dramatically.
"I don't even know why Thompson has not disposed of you. I truly don't understand what he's waiting for."
Her eyes swept over me with disgust.
"See the time. And you're still lying down with that stinking face of yours sleeping?"
My throat tightened, but I kept quiet.
Silence always saved me more than words.
"I'm leaving," she barked, spun around, and stormed away—her heels hitting the floor as though she wanted the whole building to tremble beneath her.
She banged her door aggressively.
The sound echoed through the hallway.
I stood at my door, shaking slightly, not knowing whether to remain standing or go back inside. The heaviness in my head returned, and the events of last night suddenly became blurry flashes:
The restaurant.
The laughter.
The wine.
Thompson carrying me.
The kiss.
That kiss.
My breath hitched.
I pressed my hand to my lips, remembering the feel of his.
"Oh God…" I muttered.
But the pain on my cheek brought me back to reality.
Finally, I walked back inside my room and shut the door gently—quietly, unlike Sylvia.
I reached for my phone again.
Two notifications blinked at the top of the screen.
My chest tightened.
The first message was from Dave.
Dave:
Good morning. Hope you're okay now.
I am sorry for last night.
Be good and take care of yourself today.
— Dave
I let out a small, tired sigh.
At least one person cared enough to send something warm.
Then I opened the second message.
It was from Mr. Thompson.
The moment I saw his name, my heart froze.
Completely.
My fingers trembled slightly as I tapped the message.
Thompson:
Good morning, Chantel.
I wanted to knock at your door today, but I decided to let you rest.
Don't worry about coming to the office today for your project.
Just rest and take care of yourself.
You can continue tomorrow.
— Thompson.
I stared at the message for a long while.
My heart swelled with something strange and warm—a feeling that made my fingers shake a little.
He wanted to knock at my door?
He remembered me?
He cared enough to check on me?
For the first time that morning, a small smile formed on my lips despite the throbbing pain on my cheek.
I touched the message again, rereading every line slowly.
He didn't scold me.
He didn't complain.
He didn't insult me.
He didn't ask why I over-slept.
He simply told me to rest.
I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling my heart beating faster.
"Why is he so different?" I whispered.
I sighed softly, then stood up and headed to the bathroom.
My hair was messed up, my eyes slightly puffy, and my cheek still red where Sylvia slapped me.
But I didn't want to waste more time.
I brushed my teeth quickly, washed my face, and splashed water on my cheek hoping the redness would reduce.
Then I went straight to the kitchen.
Even though Thompson told me to rest, I couldn't leave the house chores undone—not in this house. Not with Sylvia awake and ready to skin me alive at the slightest mistake.
The kitchen was quiet when I entered.
I picked up the broom, but my mind continued drifting back to last night.
The dim lights.
The warm restaurant atmosphere.
Dave smiling at me.
Thompson joining us unexpectedly.
My first taste of wine.
Laughing uncontrollably.
And then—
The kiss.
I paused.
My fingers tightened around the broom handle.
My stomach fluttered.
It felt real… too real.
The memory felt like a spark inside my chest.
I closed my eyes for a moment, replaying it again.
The softness of his mouth.
The way he held the back of my neck.
The heat.
The slow, lingering pressure.
It wasn't just a drunk mistake.
It felt like something deep.
Something forbidden.
Something beautiful.
"Oh no…" I whispered, hiding my face in my palms.
I shouldn't be thinking about this.
I shouldn't even remember it.
Thompson was someone I should never dream about—not even in the privacy of my thoughts.
I shook my head and forced myself back to reality.
"You're just drunk last night," I whispered. "Forget it."
But even as I said it, my heart refused to obey.
I swept the floor slowly, trying to keep myself busy. The headache faded little by little, replaced with a quiet ache in my chest that I didn't know how to explain.
After sweeping, I arranged the dishes and wiped the countertops.
Everything I did felt mechanical—routine—almost like my body was on auto-pilot while my mind kept drifting back to him.
Why did he kiss me back?
Why didn't he stop me?
Why was he so gentle after?
Why did he check on me this morning?
And most importantly…
What did all of this mean?
As I rinsed a plate, I heard footsteps near the dining area. My heart jumped a little—but it wasn't Thompson. It was one of the maids, Clara, carrying some laundry.
"Good afternoon, Chant," she greeted softly.
I smiled faintly and nodded back.
But even in that quiet moment, I felt something shift inside me.
Something had changed last night.
Something big.
Something I couldn't name.
Something I couldn't undo.
And deep inside, I knew—
My life in this house would never be the same again.