The day of the interview finally arrived, and I couldn't help but feel nervous. It turned out that Stephanie did put in a good word for me.
I received an invitation via call while I was in the hospital. They formally invited me for the interview and confirmed that my name was on the list. When the day came, I found myself nervously adjusting the collar of the dress I had borrowed from Bea. She was just as excited about the interview as I was and had taken it upon herself to ensure I looked my best. She chose one of her nicest red corporate dresses for me, curled my hair, and even insisted I wear makeup and heels. I had argued with her, thinking I might be overdressed, but now, sitting among the other applicants, I wished I had gone even further with my outfit. The women around me were sophisticated. They looked like they had stepped straight out of an I*******m feed, with their perfectly styled hair, designer dresses, and expensive accessories. I saw at least five of them park their cars outside and it made me wonder how much the salary was. I felt out of place and the others noticed it too. They judged me with their eyes, as if wondering what I was doing here. I couldn't blame them. Even I wondered the same thing. When I stepped into the Stonewood Mansion, my breath was taken away. The place was luxurious to say the least. The Uber I took had driven me through the huge Stonewood Estate, past the tall iron gates, and into a place that seemed like a whole new world. The mansion itself was a masterpiece, with its cream-colored stone walls. I was in awe as I looked at it. The garden was filled with beautiful flowers Stone pathways led to benches and sitting areas near the garden. The interior was even better. The walls of the hallway we were seated was filled with different kinds of artwork. Marble sculptures stood on pedestals, and the golden light from crystal chandeliers shined against the marble floors. I felt like I was walking through a work of art. The other applicants, however, seemed unfazed. They talked amongst themselves, clearly used to such surroundings. I did my best to maintain my composure, but my heart pounded loudly in my chest. Eventually, a tall mature woman dressed in a blue suit approached us. She smiled warmly as she introduced herself. "Hello, ladies," she said. "I'm Miss Sullivan, the house manager. Please follow me." We all rose from our seats and followed her down the long hallway. Our footsteps echoed against the marble floors as we moved, and I couldn't resist stealing glances at the beautiful place. It felt surreal to be in a place like this, the kind of place I had only ever seen in movies or magazines. Finally, we arrived at a wooden door. Miss Sullivan opened it, revealing a lovely office. I couldn't help but gasp softly as we entered. The room was decorated with more artwork, and sparkling chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. The furniture looked too luxurious to sit on, but we were directed to take seats on a row of chairs lined against the wall. Miss Sullivan disappeared into another room inside the office, leaving us to wait. The minutes ticked by slowly. My heart was pounding so loudly that I could feel it in my ears. I stole glances at the other women, who seemed calm and composed. They chatted and laughed confidently. I, on the other hand, was too nervous to speak. I felt like an imposter, completely out of place. Finally, Miss Sullivan returned and began calling us into the interview room one by one. I got more nervous as I watched the other applicants walk through the door The knot in my stomach tightened with every passing minute. After what felt like an eternity, Miss Sullivan called my name. "Miss Joan?" she said, holding a paper in her hand. This was it. The moment I had been preparing for. I took a deep breath and stood up. I adjusted my dress, determined to make the best possible impression. "Yes, ma'am," I replied, forcing a smile. "Please, come in," she said, gesturing toward the door. I followed her into the interview room. Seated at the desk was a man dressed in a suit, not Derrick Stonewood, but someone who looked equally important. . "Please, have a seat, Miss Joan," the man said, pointing toward the chair opposite him. "Thank you," I replied as I sat down. I smiled, remembering Bea's advice to smile during the interview. She had always complimented my smile, saying it would give a positive impression. It seemed to work because the man smiled back at me. Miss Sullivan handed him a folder containing my resume and application. He reviewed it briefly before speaking. "We've reviewed your qualifications, Miss Joan," he began. "You have excellent skills." "Thank you," I replied with a smile. "You interned at a great firm," he continued. "They confirmed how good you were. You also got a scholarship to an impressive school. How come you didn't finish college?" The question made my heart sink, but I had no reason to lie. I decided to be honest. "My mom has been sick," I said. Quitting school had been one of the hardest decisions I had ever made. "I had to drop out to look for a job to take care of her. Hopefully, with a good job, I'll be able to go back to school in no time." It took every ounce of self-restraint not to cry. I held back the tears as much as I could. The man's eyes filled with sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope things work out." "Hopefully," I replied, offering a tight smile. "Tell me, Miss Joan," he said "Why do you want to work for the Stonewood House? What makes you believe you are the right fit for this position?" I took a moment to gather my thoughts before responding. Bea and I had practiced this question repeatedly. "I have always been fascinated by the Stonewood family's success," I began. "The way they built their empire is inspiring. I believe that working for someone of this caliber will provide me with the experience and opportunities I need to grow. I am dedicated and hardworking, and I am confident that I can meet the high standards you expect." He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by my response. "Can you handle high-pressure situations?" he asked. "I ask this because Sir Derrick can be very demanding." "I've worked as a waitress and also as a secretary," I replied. "I've had demanding bosses in the past, and I can thrive under pressure. I can assure you of this. I can also meet deadlines for tasks as well. I know how to prioritize." He nodded "Good. Now, let's discuss your knowledge of fine dining etiquette. As a maid in this household, you will be required to serve guests or even Mr. Derrick himself during meal times and events. Are you familiar with proper etiquette?" "To an extent, sir," I replied. "I took a class in high school, and I was taught the basics. I learn fast, and I would be honored to be trained further." Miss Sullivan scribbled notes on her notepad as we spoke, and I couldn't help but feel nervous as I watched her. Was she writing bad comments? "Very well," the man continued. "Can you handle private information?" "Private information?" I asked, feeling a bit confused. "This is an extremely private household," he explained. "Everything that happens here is under lock and key. Nobody else must hear about it. Can you assure us of this?" I had no idea what kind of secrets they might be keeping, but I nodded anyway. "Absolutely, sir." "Okay then," he said, closing the folder. "That's all for today. We'll contact you." "Thank you, sir. I appreciate the opportunity," I said, rising from my seat. "You're welcome." As soon as I stepped outside the room, I let out a deep breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The tension had made me dizzy, and I needed to find a bathroom to splash some water on my face. I noticed a woman standing nearby in a corner. She wore a uniform, likely a worker here. "Excuse me," I said, approaching her. "Where's the bathroom, please?" "Go outside this room, walk down the corridor, and it's the second door on your right," she replied. "Thank you." I left the room, feeling dizzy. . The interview hadn't gone as badly as I had feared. The questions were manageable, and the man seemed nice. I just hoped I made a good impression. I was so lost in my thoughts that for a moment, I forgot where I was going. All of a sudden, I bumped into a hard wall. "Oops" I said. To my surprise, I saw a suit and tie in front of me. I didn't hit a wall. I hit a person. I'm so clumsy. I looked up, ready to apologize to the person. I gasped when I saw who it was. It was Derrick fucking Stonewood.JOAN’S POVThe kiss never happened.At least, that’s what I kept telling myself over and over again.I had to. There was no time to dwell on Derrick's lips being just inches from mine… his breath mixing with mine… the way he looked at me like he was about to forget who we both were. No. I shoved the memory deep down and locked it away. I had more important things to focus on tonight.Dinner.A formal one, hosted in the grand dining hall of the mansion. The long table was dressed in cream linens and adorned with silver candleholders. Crystal glasses reflected under the chandelier, and every plate had been placed perfectly. Derrick invited some of his business partners and they hosted the dinner here.My heart pounded, not from nerves of the event, but from the pressure of making sure everything went smoothly. I was supposed to be the future lady of the house. All eyes would be on me. Every mistake would be remembered.I moved around the hall quietly, checking everything. Guests were mi
JOAN’S POVThe mansion always felt too big, too quiet… too cold.I clutched the file in my hands, one of the many I’d been asked to review—wedding logistics, estate staff reports, updates on the interior renovations—but really, it was just an excuse. Another excuse. One of the many I’d been making just to see him.Derrick.Every time I walked these halls, it was hard for me not to hope I don’t run in to him. It didn’t help that he barely acknowledged me in public. I couldn’t deny that I was aching for the rare, glimpses of something soft in his eyes—something human.Derrick was the most complicated man I had ever met.He was hot and cold.Just when I thought things were going well between us – like when I danced in the rain and he looked at me like I was the most precious thing in the world, like he was seeing the sun for the first time – he would ignore me the next day like nothing ever happened.It took every self restraint in me not to go insane.I stopped at the edge of the hallwa
JOAN’S POVIt’s strange how quickly you can go from a nobody to the headline.I used to wake up to the sound of my neighbor’s dog barking or the garbage truck rumbling down the alley. Now, it’s the flash of a camera outside my window or thousand of Instagram notifications. The paparazzi have no mercy. I once caught a man practically hanging from a tree just to get a picture of me sipping coffee in a cafe. The Billionaire’s Bride, they call me. As if my name—Joan—has evaporated into something shinier, more sellable.Inside this mansion, though, it doesn’t feel shiny. It feels... hollow.The chandelier in the entrance hall is worth more than everything I’ve ever owned. My reflection catches in polished marble floors and golden frames too often—I barely recognize myself. The woman with her hair always perfect, lips glossed, and waist cinched in designer fabric isn’t me. At least, not the me I remember.Irene tries. Bless her. She chatters as she helps me choose floral arrangements or tri
DERRICK’S POVThe car was filled with an unbearable tension. I could feel it pressing down on me, suffocating me. Joan sat beside me in the backseat. She didn’t look bothered about me at all. Instead, her eyes were fixed on the darkened city outside the window.She acted like everything was normal, like she didn’t just stand up to or subtly threaten a mafia boss. I knew Antonio wouldn’t take it lightly. Still, it was fun to watch. I didn’t know she had that kind of fire inside her.The streetlights highlighted her face. She looked even more beautiful at night. The lights sharpened the soft contours of her cheekbones, the curve of her lips. But what kept me staring at her wasn’t her beauty—it was the fire she had inside. A fire I had totally underestimated. Hell, I didn’t even know it existed.I never thought she had it in her. Not Joan. Not the meek quiet maid who barely spoke when I was in the room. She couldn’t even look me in the eye most times. But tonight… tonight she had proven
DERRICK’S POVThe moment I stepped off the ballroom floor, I could still feel the ghost of Joan’s touch on my skin. Her warmth, her softness—it lingered, and I hated it. I clenched my fists, shoving past the crowd as I stormed out of the ballroom.The air outside was cool, but it did nothing to stop the fire burning inside me. I needed to get away from her, from the way she made me feel—like I was on the edge of losing control.Damn it.I leaned against a pillar in the hallway, inhaling sharply. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything. I had vowed to never let another woman under my skin again. Love was a liability, a weakness I couldn't afford. Not in my world. Not as a mafia boss. If my enemies caught even a whiff of something—of someone—I cared about, they’d exploit it. They’d use her against me. And Joan... Joan was already too close.Besides, a woman had hurt me before and I’d be damned if I let it happen again.Women. They were all the same. They’d act
DERRICKS’ POVI stood near the balcony, holding a cigar in my hands. I needed it to calm me down.I took a long drag, inhaling deep, letting the nicotine burn its way through my chest. It was the only thing keeping my nerves in check. Antonio had made his threat clear—he would stand against me at the table, and that was not something I could afford. He had a name that carried weight. His father had once been one of the godfathers. That legacy alone made the old men at the table listen to him, respect him. And now, with my seat hanging by a thread, I could not let him turn them against me.I exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night air. Losing my place wasn’t an option. It was my father’s legacy, something I had bled for, killed for. Everything I had worked for would be undone if the godfathers saw me as weak, as incompetent. I would never get the chance to be the next Don. And Henry, my bastard of a stepbrother, was already waiting like a vulture, ready to take what was mine.W