AN AFFAIR WITH MY HUSBAND (SIX)

— GIANNA (RENEE) —

Fifty million was a significant amount for me; I needed the money without a doubt, and I yearned for my freedom. I accepted the deal without hesitation, rendering Carl's attempts to alter the narrative useless.

The memory of him cornering me, my back pressed against the wall, was bitter to recall. He had tried to kiss me, and I slapped him twice. That explained his frown and why he turned down Sergio's request to escort me to Tobias' house for the interview.

The car that had brought me pulled up in front of a large, modern chateau that matched Tobias' aesthetics.

It was challenging to read him. From my research, he was extremely private and uptight. The news of his anniversary a few weeks ago had come as a shock to everyone, and within hours, it had vanished as if it were an error. The underground cyber team of the Abyss had that information up their sleeves, making access relatively easy.

His wife, Gianna Whitlock. The name sounded familiar—too familiar—but I brushed the thought aside.

“Good luck. I’ll be outside when you’re finished.” The driver informed me, and I merely nodded.

I sighed, adjusting my skirt before stepping into the house. Over time, I had dyed my hair black and straightened it. Today, I had tied it into a ponytail, wearing a long straight black skirt with a short-sleeved, button-up white shirt.

I couldn't hide my tattoos, but they were small enough not to notice. I often wondered what they meant and why I had them, especially a particular one on my back. It felt surreal to read, “In this world of chaos, you're my peace.” 

I must've said that to someone, or perhaps they said it to me. Or maybe it was a movie quote or something.

“Mrs. Whitlock will see you now, Miss Wilson.” A man’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I realized I had been sitting in the living room, spinning through my thoughts about my tattooed body.

“Alright. Thank you,” I replied, striving to remain calm, respectful, and composed. He nodded and turned on his heels while I rose from the chair to follow him. I watched him coordinate with the other maids as they tidied up the already pristine living room.

“I’m Elisha, the butler,” he said.

“You already know my name, so...”

He offered no response but stepped into the elevator as I drifted back into my thoughts. They had many maids at their disposal, and I couldn't help but wonder why they needed me.

The elevator ride was exceedingly quiet but thankfully came to an end. Elisha led me out onto a balcony where a petite woman with burgundy hair sat sipping tea, her legs crossed. She focused intently on her phone, visibly upset, trying to call a number labeled “Hubby” but receiving no answer. She remained preoccupied until Elisha cleared his throat: “Renee Wilson, Madame.”

As her gaze met mine, her fingers trembled, causing the porcelain cup in her hand to crash to the ground, shattering into pieces. A splash of liquid hit my black ballet flats, but I struggled to maintain my composure.

Her eyes remained locked on me as though she could will me to the ground. I found it uncomfortable, yet I held her gaze, unwilling to look away first. She appeared as pale as though she had seen a ghost.

“Are you alright, Madame?” Elisha inquired, and she blinked in response.

“Get someone to clean this mess right away,” she ordered sharply, and Elisha bowed before taking his leave.

Mrs. Whitlock offered me a smile that felt too bright for a woman whose purpose seemed to simply seduce your husband, if you ask me.

“I’m sorry... it’s just that you look so much like someone I used to know.”

“Oh?” My curiosity piqued. I had many questions about that person, but I couldn’t risk blowing my cover. I didn’t want her to know about my accident that had robbed me of my memories. “That’s interesting.” I offered her a small smile.

Maids were already arriving with Elisha at a corner, and I watched them clean, trying to avoid Mrs. Whitlock’s eyes, which were becoming increasingly uncomfortable to bear.

“Indeed. Why did you apply for this job, Miss Wilson?” Mrs. Whitlock asked.

“Because I'm broke and in need of an honest living.” I hadn’t even realized the interview had started.

“Why is that?” she questioned as a maid poured tea into another porcelain cup. The aromatic scent of lemon tea, mingled with ginger, wafted through the air.

“Please clarify,” I requested. I felt I had been clear enough about my financial situation.

“Why do you think being a maid is an honest way to make money?”

“It doesn’t involve me murdering anyone, selling my body, organs, or whatever, so I think it’s fair.”

“How well can you handle stress?”

With alcohol.

“Pretty well. I’ve worked as a waitress before—”

“When?”

“When I was nineteen,” I lied.

She leaned in closer, desperate and eager. “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-five,” I fibbed again. She was beginning to ask too many personal questions, as if this were a blind date. I had no idea how old I truly was, when my birthday fell, or anything about my life; it felt like I had been reborn with a clean slate.

She clicked her tongue, sipping her tea while stealing glances at me. It was becoming unbearably tense to stand and watch her relax in her silk robe while I wondered if I could do this job. I sought to view it as a test, enduring it all; my mind and focus remained on the fifty million dollars. 

I’d receive a down payment of two million after the first month, so all I had to do was land this job.

“How would you feel about taking orders from someone younger than you?” she asked.

“As long as I get paid, I don’t really mind.”

The maids had departed, leaving just the two of us, with Elisha standing behind us, his demeanor serious.

“Money-minded, huh?” she scoffed, finishing the last remnants of tea.

“Yes, you could say that.”

“Do you smoke or drink?”

“No,” I answered reluctantly, telling another lie. This would be harder than I had anticipated.

“Perfect. My husband doesn’t like it.”

Fuck him, and fuck you too.

She clicked her tongue and continued. “I’ll get straight to the point. The staff we have are temporary, only coming in on weekends, and it’s been hard for me to manage since I recently opened my clothing store. I need permanent staff, and you’re perfect for that role.”

“Permanent staff?”

“Yes. You’ll stay in the apartment at the back of the house, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, and running minor errands during the weekdays until Elisha and the others resume on weekends,” she explained.

Elisha turned to meet my gaze, and something told me that this wasn’t part of the plan. I wasn’t meant to take on this role; it felt like a punishment.

A smirk crept across her red-painted lips, and I sighed. “It sounds perfect,” I replied, likely catching her off guard as her fingers trembled slightly.

“Indeed. You’ll wake up at 5 AM. My husband leaves at 8 AM, so you should finish cleaning by 6:30, have breakfast ready, and dinner prepared before we return home. Do you know how to cook?”

“I can. I’ll work according to my personal schedule; I hope that’s acceptable.”

“As long as it fits mine, I don’t mind. You’ll also prepare lunch for him to take to work.”

“Splendid.” I forced a smile.

“You seem enthusiastic. Do you know what this entails?”

“All for the money.” I laughed. It was only three months. I could manage this, and I couldn’t wait to wipe that sly smirk off her lips.

“One hundred thousand—that’s your pay.”

“I’d be grateful.”

She sighed and studied me for a while. “Follow Elisha to finish the paperwork. You’re hired.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Whitlock,” I corrected.

It was as though she clung to that last name like it was a lifeline.

“My apologies, Mrs. Whitlock.” 

She waved her hand dismissively. “You can leave; you’ll start on Monday.”

I nodded and walked past her towards Elisha.

“Oh, and Renee?” I heard her call in a sing-song voice.

I stopped in my tracks and turned back. “Yes, Mrs. Whitlock?”

“Stay away from my husband; he doesn’t like people like you.” Her warning was sharp.

‘I don’t like people like him either,’ I thought of responding, but instead, I turned to leave without another word, not caring if she dismissed me.

It seemed she prioritized this man above all else, and that only made me want him more.