Chapter 2

Laura

The sharp whistling of the kettle yanked me back to reality. With a weary sigh, I turned off the stove and poured myself a cup of coffee. I was going to need all the energy I could get today.

The thought of going to work made my stomach twist with dread.

It wasn't just because Peter was an unbearable coworker, though that certainly didn't help. It was the exhaustion of juggling three different jobs just to pay off a loan that seemed endless.

On days when I wasn't forced to cover extra shifts with Peter, I was either racing around the city as a delivery driver or working late into the night as a freelancer, desperate to scrape together enough money to keep my life from crumbling completely.

I took a sip of coffee, momentarily forgetting how hot it was.

"Son of a...!" I hissed as the burning liquid scalded my tongue and throat.

A loud stomping sound came from the ceiling above me, followed by a voice muffled through the floorboards. My new upstairs neighbour, apparently.

The apartment directly above me had been empty for months, probably because the rent was high enough to buy a damn villa on some secluded island but now, it seemed someone wealthy enough had moved in.

"Some people are born rich, while the rest of us work ourselves to the bone until our hands bleed," I muttered bitterly, shaking my head. This time, I sipped my coffee more carefully, staring into nothing as my thoughts wandered.

And then—the letter.

Two weeks had passed since I first received it. No follow-up, no explanation for why it ended up in my hands. No one had come looking for it, either.

Which meant... it was meant for me but the problem was, I had never met a man at a bar. Not once. My love life was nonexistent, and my social life was just as pathetic. I had no friends, and no real family, unless my deadbeat brother counted, which he didn't.

So why did I have this letter?

Who the hell was this other Laura George?

Was it a mistake on the sender's part? A mix-up by the delivery service?

I had no idea.

Too many questions. Not a single answer.

My phone rang suddenly, jolting me from my thoughts. I hurried across the kitchen to grab it, my stomach dropping when I saw the caller ID.

Rick.

Shit.

The second I answered, his gruff voice snapped through the speaker. "You're either the new employer, or you're done working here. Your choice."

Oh, come on, Rick. There's no management. It's just you.

"N-none, sir. No choice," I stammered, my heartbeat pounding like a drum.

"Then if I were you, I'd be on the first bus."

"I'm on my way."

He hung up without another word.

I exhaled shakily, staring at my reflection in the kitchen window.

There was a pattern to my life. A cycle. Work, obey, survive. Repeat. Even when I didn't want to.

Even when I couldn't.

*****

"I'm sorry about that night."

Peter's words were casual, but something about them irritated me.

"What night, Peter?" I asked tiredly.

I was too drained to entertain his ramblings. Between sneaking out on my breaks to deliver food, making sure Rick didn't catch me, and dealing with customers, I barely had the energy to stand upright. I wasn't about to waste what little I had left dealing with Peter's nonsense.

"The night I... you know... played dead."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "You've apologized a hundred times and I've told you, so long as you don't do that shit again, we have no problem."

"Yeah, but you're still acting cold toward me." He sounded almost offended. "I even offered to take that young lady's order, and you ignored me."

I groaned internally.

"You don't get it, do you?" I muttered. "No one here is looking out for us. We're the outcasts, Peter. No one gives a damn about us. We only have ourselves."

He sighed. "I just want to be on good terms with you."

I sometimes wondered if Kate and Andrew—the assholes who had effectively made us pariahs at work were actually justified in kicking Peter to the curb. Maybe I was finally seeing things from their perspective.

"You know you're really annoying, right?"

"I've been told," he admitted, smirking. "Still don't see it, though."

"Well, I can help you with that." I crossed my arms. "You know how exhausted I am. You know how badly I need to get the hell out of here and try to sleep and yet, here you are, holding me back."

He raised his hands in surrender, stepping aside. "Okay, okay, I get it. I'm just trying to be cool with you, Laura."

I exhaled, shaking my head before finally offering him a hand. "Fine. We're cool."

His gaze flicked from my face to my outstretched palm. He grinned before taking it.

"Now let me leave before Kate and Andrew get here," I muttered.

He laughed but nodded, stepping aside completely as I made my way to the changing room.

I pulled my bag out of my locker, rummaging through it for my hairbrush when my fingers brushed against something familiar.

The envelope.

I hesitated, then slowly pulled it out.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks of questions. Two weeks of uncertainty and I was tired of waiting.

I grabbed my phone and, without thinking twice, dialled the number scrawled inside the letter.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Three times and then, the voice came through.

"Hello."

A deep, masculine voice came through the speaker, and I instinctively jerked the phone away from my ear as if it had burned me.

My throat tightened.

Shit.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to take a steady breath.

"Hello?" he said again, this time more impatiently.

I clenched my jaw and steeled myself.

"This is Laura George," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "I want to meet."