"I'm sorry, but we have to let you go."
The words replayed in Jocelyn's mind like a broken record as the café door slammed shut behind her.
She froze on the sidewalk, clutching her old apron handbag like a lifeline.
Her throat burned, and tears threatened, but she blinked them back. Crying here—on this noisy street, under the buzzing neon café sign—wouldn't change the fact that her world had just collapsed.
She'd been fired. Just like that. No warning.
Just when her rent was due in less than a week and her mother's medical prescriptions couldn't wait for another paycheck. The numbers in her bank account weren't just low—they were laughable, cruel. The reality hit her like cold water: she had no safety net left.
Her legs moved on autopilot. She wandered aimlessly, block after block, until the sun dipped below the skyline and the city's night lights blinked to life. Her body ached, her heart heavier with every step.
At that moment, her phone buzzed. A text lit up the screen.
> Bestie: Meet me at Deli's. I'm buying. You look like you need it.
A shaky sigh escaped her lips. Somehow, Clara always knew.
***
One hour later, Jocelyn sat slumped in a corner booth at Deli's. The warm glow of the diner lights did little to comfort her. She stirred her soda until the ice melted, the straw squeaking against the glass.
"Out with it," Clara's voice came, crisp and direct, as she slid into the seat across from her. She hated the distant look in her bestfriend's eyes.
Jocelyn gave a hollow laugh. "What didn't happen? I got fired. I can't pay rent. I can't buy Mom's meds. Life hates me. The end."
Clara's face softened immediately, her usual sass replaced with true concern. "It's that bad, huh?" she whispered, leaning forward.
Jocelyn nodded solemnly. "Yeah… It is. Honestly? I feel like I'm cursed."
"You're not cursed, Jocy," Clara said quickly, her tone fierce, as if she could fight fate itself for her friend. "You're just… not very lucky. That's all."
That earned her a scoff. Jocelyn tilted her head, letting out a soft chuckle. "Pretty sure those mean the same thing. Yea?"
"Not in your case." Clara shook her head and reached for her coffee. She sipped slowly, eyes dancing with hesitation. Then, after a long pause, she set the cup down. "Okay… this might not be the right timing, but I might know something that can help."
Jocelyn's head snapped up. "If it involves a job, it's perfect timing."
Clara leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "My boss is desperate for a nanny. Like—pulling-his-hair-out desperate. Two kids, and trust me, they're a nightmare to handle. Their seventh nanny in five months quit last week."
Jocelyn blinked. "Seven? Are they wild animals?"
Clara giggled softly. "Basically. Spoilt and stubborn. Since their mum passed away, their dad has been doing anything to keep them happy. And failing."
Jocelyn sighed, rubbing her temples. "I see. And how come you're only telling me this now?"
"Honestly, I didn't think you'd want it," Clara admitted. "You've never been good with children, so I thought you'd reject it. Though… the job pays insane money. But…" She hesitated, lips twitching like she wasn't sure if she should continue. "The boss. My boss. He's… not exactly easy to work for."
Jocelyn groaned, slumping deeper into the booth. "So I'd be broke and tortured?"
Clara smirked. "Depends on how badly you want the paycheck. And…" Her grin turned wicked. "…he's Alexander Anderson."
The name struck Jocelyn like thunder.
Everyone knew Alexander Anderson. Billionaire CEO. Ruthless tycoon. The kind of man who built empires before breakfast and destroyed enemies by lunch. People didn't talk about him casually—they whispered, like saying his name too loudly might summon him.
"No." Jocelyn shook her head violently. "Absolutely not. I'd never last two seconds with someone like that."
Clara shrugged casually. "Yeah, you shouldn't. Even though he's offering triple what the café paid you. Even though you'd live in the estate, meals included. Even though one paycheck would cover your mom's medicine and your rent…" She trailed off dramatically, then shook her head. "Nah. Not worth it. You'll find something else. Eventually."
Jocelyn's chest tightened like a vice. Triple pay?
Her mind flashed with images she didn't want: her mother's pale, trembling hands clutching empty pill bottles. The stack of rent notices glaring at her from the kitchen counter.
Her lips parted. "Did you say triple the pay?"
Clara nodded, munching on fries with a knowing smirk. "Mm-hm. Told you—he's desperate. But his kids are little demons. No nanny has lasted more than two weeks."
Jocelyn stared into her glass, her heart hammering. The rational part of her screamed to say no. Alexander Anderson was a storm no one survived. But the desperate daughter, the struggling sister, the woman who had nothing left to lose—she was tempted.
Her voice came out fragile, almost a whisper. "What if I fail? What if I end up like the others?"
Clara reached across the table, wrapping Jocelyn's cold hands in her warm grip. "Then you walk away. At least you'll have tried. And maybe you'll have enough for rent and medicine in the meantime. Isn't that worth one shot?"
Jocelyn closed her eyes, fighting the storm inside. Pride told her to say no. Pride screamed to cling to dignity. But pride didn't pay bills. Pride didn't buy medicine.
Her eyes opened slowly, and her heart pounded against her ribs. "Fine," she whispered. "I'll do it. I'll meet him."
Clara froze for a beat, then grinned triumphantly. "Good. Be at Anderson Estate tomorrow morning, sharp at eight. Don't be late. Alexander hates tardiness."
Jocelyn shoved her drink aside, suddenly nauseous. Her palms grew clammy at the thought.
Alexander Anderson.
The man who made rivals tremble and employees quake. The man who chewed people up and spat them out without blinking.
And tomorrow morning, she would be standing in front of him.
One wrong move, and he wouldn't just end her job. He'd destroy her life.