06- Is there a problem here?

Audrey pov

Leaving Michell’s luxurious hotel, I felt a mix of gratitude and dread. Grateful I was able to see the doctor but also the cost. The cost was a hell much.

I had no one to rely on, no immediate solution to my problems, and certainly no magic wand to make it all go away.

I pulled out my phone and hesitated for a moment before dialing my mother’s number. The line rang twice before I hung up. Who was I kidding?

She hadn’t spoken to me in years—not since I married Harold. She’d called my quitting dancing to follow love a mistake back then, and I’d stubbornly ignored her warnings.

Now, fate cruelly stood waiting for me to digest the consequences of my choices.

“Snap out of it,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head.

Later, I met with my lawyer, a kind but no-nonsense man—Greg. He didn’t sugarcoat anything.

“Your ex-husband has hired one of the best lawyers in town, Ms. Taylor,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

“He’s throwing money at this case to ensure he doesn’t have to pay you a dime. If we don’t find crucial evidence or get a witness to support your claims, the odds aren’t in your favor.”

I swallowed hard, trying not to show my panic. “What kind of evidence are we talking about?”

“Anything that proves he hid assets during the marriage or that he’s lying about his finances now,” Greg replied. “But it won’t be easy.”

Harold always knew how to cover his tracks. The idea of fighting him in court felt like trying to climb a mountain with my hands tied behind my back. But what choice did I have?

“I’ll figure something out,” I said, more to myself than to Greg.

***

I picked up several part-time jobs, juggling waitressing, data entry, and even babysitting a dog for a neighbor just to save up for the surgery.

The work was exhausting, but I didn’t have the luxury of giving up. Every penny I earned went straight into a savings jar I kept hidden in the back of my closet. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

One evening, after a particularly long shift at the diner, I stumbled into Lisa’s apartment, ready to collapse.

Just as I kicked off my shoes, there was a knock at the door. I frowned, wondering who it could be at this hour.

When I opened it, Michell’s driver stood there, looking out of place in my dingy hallway.

“Miss Taylor,” he said, his tone formal. “Miss Garcia has been crying and refusing to eat. She’s been asking for you.”

Why?

The mention of Michell’s daughter made me pause. My heart softened at the thought of the little girl crying, but I was exhausted, but the thought of her crying. Still, I nodded.

“Let me grab my bag,” I said quietly.

The ride to the hotel was awkwardly silent. When we arrived, I found Michell pacing in the lavish suite.

The little girl, curled up on the couch, looked up as soon as I entered. Her tear-streaked face lit up, and she ran straight into my arms.

“You came!” she cried, clinging to me.

“Of course I did,” I murmured, stroking her hair. “I’m here now, okay?”

Michell watched us with narrowed eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. “What exactly did you do to gain her trust so quickly?” he asked, suspicion dripping from his voice.

I looked up, startled. “What are you talking about?”

“She’s never this attached to anyone,” he said. “It’s...odd.”

“I didn’t do anything special,” I replied, trying to keep my tone even. “Kids just need kindness sometimes.”

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, he gestured for his assistant to pour me a glass of water, which I politely declined.

After the little girl calmed down, Michell sat across from me, his expression unreadable. “I’ll cut to the chase,” he said. “I’m willing to cover your medical expenses, but there’s a condition.”

I tensed, what condition can a billionaire like Michell give? “What condition?”

“You’ll take care of my daughter for two years,” he said simply. “She clearly likes you, and I need someone she likes around her.”

The proposal took me by surprise. Babysitting wasn’t exactly my thing, but the stakes were too high to dismiss it outright. Still, doubt crept in.

“I’ve never done anything like that before,” I admitted. “I don’t think I’m qualified.”

“You don’t need to be qualified,” Michell said, his tone dismissive. “You just need to keep her happy. Think of it as a job with benefits.”

I hesitated. “I can't. I will take jobs and save up for my treatment.”

His lips twitched in mockery. “For how long? And how many jobs do you want to take,” he smiled. “By the time you save enough, the doctor would have been chilling with the angels, except of course, the treatment is in heaven.”

It wasn't funny but I knew he wasn’t entirely wrong. My pride warred with my desperation, and in the end, desperation won.

“Fine,” I said. “But I need some time to pack my things.”

“Do whatever you need to,” he replied, standing up. “But remember, this isn’t charity. You will have to undergo a trial period of six months and if you don’t meet my expectations, the deal is off.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. What choice did I have?

I played and had fun with Amelia till she slept off. After saying goodbye to an aloof Michell. I stepped out of the hotel room and the last person I expected to see was standing by the curb—Harold.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, annoyance evident in my voice.

He smirked, holding up his phone. “I could ask you the same thing. Coming out of a man’s hotel room late at night? Very classy, Audrey.”

I bristled at his innuendo. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, I think it’s exactly what it looks like,” he said. “And I’m sure the tabloids will love this.” He raised his phone, snapping a picture before I could react.

“Stop it, Harold!” I snapped, reaching for the phone, but he stepped back, grinning like a child who’d just won a game.

“You’ve really fallen, haven’t you?” he sneered. “I always knew you’d amount to nothing without me.”

Before I could respond, the doors to the hotel swung open, and Michell stepped out with the same air of authority he always carried.

His tailored suit seemed to absorb the dim light, his expression unreadable as he pocketed his hands and let his gaze flick between the two of us.

“Is there a problem here?” Michell asked, his voice smooth but laced with quiet intensity.

Harold’s smirk froze mid-taunt. His eyes widened as recognition hit, and for a brief, glorious moment, he looked utterly rattled.

It was as though the floor had dropped out from under him. My breath caught, not at Harold’s reaction, but at the shift in the air around us—sharp, heavy, and entirely in Michell’s control.

“Mr. Garcia...” Harold finally stammered, his voice pitched higher than usual. His forced smile twitched on his lips, a pale imitation of his usual confidence. “I didn’t realize you were—uh—here. No problem at all. I was just—”