"Your cooking is terrible, you're broke and ugly, and all you ever do is embarrass me. You're nothing compared to—"
He stopped himself.
For five years, I had raised that boy as my own.
I didn't know when it started, but somewhere along the way, Felix had come to despise me. I'd always assumed he was grieving his late mother. But in that moment, something in his unfinished sentence caught my attention.
"Compared to who?"
He refused to answer. He just spat, "None of your damn business," and slammed his bedroom door shut.
I was going to be late. I reminded him through the door to lock up and go to bed early, then hurried out.
By the time I finished scrubbing the vomit from the last private room, daylight was flooding in through the windows.
My back ached so badly I could barely stand straight. I was about to collect my pay and clock out.
The club manager slammed his palm on the desk and barked at me.
"I just did an inspection. Your cleaning last night was completely unacceptable. And you have the nerve to ask for money?"
"Go back and redo every single room. Otherwise, you're not getting a cent."
I stood there, stunned. I had cleaned every room twice, making sure each one was spotless before moving on to the next.
I couldn't let a whole night's work go to waste. But I also needed to get home to make Felix breakfast and take him to school.
I sent Edmund a message on WhatsApp.
This time, he replied almost immediately.
"Don't worry about it. I'll take him. You've been working hard, Louisa."
Halfway through re-cleaning, I went to the restroom to rinse out a rag. That was when I heard the manager's voice coming from the men's room next door. He was on the phone.
"Mr. Mason, don't you worry. By the time she's done re-cleaning every room, it'll take her hours."
"I guarantee Miss Pruitt will get to sleep in as long as she wants. She won't be disturbed."
"Heh, it's the least I can do. Can't just pocket your three hundred grand for nothing."
I leaned against the cold wall. My knees trembled with pain.
But that pain was nothing compared to hearing Edmund's voice on the other end say, "Good work."
My hands moved on instinct. I pulled out my phone and opened the home surveillance feed.
The girl from last night's video walked out of our bedroom in a silk camisole.
The hickeys on her neck were impossible to miss.
She draped her arms around Edmund's neck, her voice syrupy and coy.