Chapter 4 - Secrets in the Third-Floor Suite
The heavy mahogany door of the third-floor suite clicked shut behind me, sealing off the sprawling, dimly lit hallway.
I stood in the center of the room, clutching my worn canvas bag against my chest like a shield. The space wasn't just a bedroom; it was a sanctuary carved out of an iron fortress. A plush king-sized bed draped in charcoal silk sat opposite a massive stone fireplace where a gentle fire was already crackling. French doors opened onto a private balcony overlooking the rain-slicked gardens of the estate.
Yet, despite the luxury, my skin hummed with nervous static.
“...a retainer that will solve whatever financial emergency brought you to my front door in a cheap blazer.”
Victor Rinaldi didn’t just guess things. He investigated. In his world, information was currency, and a desperate woman standing on his porch with thirty-six dollars in her bank account was an open book waiting to be read. He knew about my custody battle for Lucia. He knew about the court date in two weeks.
My phone buzzed on the mahogany vanity table. I snatched it up instantly.
Case update: the screen read from my court-appointed legal aid. Opposing counsel filed a motion for expedited financial audit. If you cannot show stable housing and five thousand dollars in liquid reserves by Friday, temporary custody defaults to your ex.
Five thousand dollars. By Friday.
I let out a shaky breath, burying my face in my hands. Even with Victor’s generous starting salary, payroll cycles meant I wouldn't see a dime of that money until next month. Unless...
A soft knock interrupted my panic.
I opened the door to find the housekeeper who had welcomed me earlier, holding a fresh stack of linens and a sealed white envelope.
"Mr. Rinaldi asked me to bring these up," she said quietly, her eyes sympathetic. "And this."
She handed me the envelope. I tore it open with trembling fingers. Inside lay a certified bank cashier's check made out to my name, in the exact amount of five thousand dollars, along with a note written in sharp, heavy black ink:
May you like
An advance on your retainer. A Rinaldi never employs someone who cannot focus entirely on the task at hand. See you at breakfast, Serena. — V.
I stared at the check, a hot tear slipping down my cheek. He hadn't just hired me. He had bought into my war, aligning his formidable power with my desperate need to keep my daughter.
