Chapter 1

I swear to God, I must be cursed.
Six goddamn months working as a live-in maid, and the man of the house goes and throws himself off the damn balcony.

The next day, his wife handed me ten grand.

It hadn’t even been half a year since I started working for them. No paycheck yet, and now I’m stuck helping deal with this guy’s funeral shit like I’m part of the family.

The memorial started early this morning. The place was swarming with Jack’s relatives and work buddies, all dressed in their sad black suits pretending to be devastated.

I’d just finished seating one group of guests and hadn’t even grabbed a sip of water when some man in a jet-black suit walked straight up to me.

I figured he was another mourner and started to greet him, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me aside like we were about to talk drugs behind a dumpster.

“You’re the new maid at Jack Strong’s place, right?” he said, dead serious.

I nodded, weirded out.
He took the cup of water I handed him, downed it in one gulp, and then said, “Damn, you’ve got the worst luck I’ve ever seen. Three families in two years, and every single employer dropped dead. And now here you are again—cleaning up after another corpse.”

His hair was slicked back like a Wall Street banker, and he had this oversized leather briefcase slung across his shoulder. He didn’t look like someone here to grieve. Not one bit.

He leaned in and whispered, “I just overheard one of the aunts say Jack jumped. That true?”

“Who the hell are you?” I snapped. My head was pounding from being on my feet all morning. “Are you even here for the service?”

He chuckled awkwardly. “Of course. Just paying my respects.”
Then: “How long were you working for them?”

“Six months.”

He was clearly trying to keep digging, but I cut him off. “Who even are you? Which side of the family are you from?”

He ignored my question, dragged me toward a quiet corner, and pulled a business card from his coat. “I’m with the insurance company. You know… guy dies, I show up.”

The card read: Ryan Wallace.

“Cool. Look around then. Why the interrogation?” I was already irritated. Last thing I needed was the homeowner’s family thinking I was loafing off and docking my already nonexistent pay.

He leaned against a pillar, smirked, and said, “It’s just procedure, sweetheart.”
Then, with this weird intensity in his eyes: “Did you actually see Jack fall?”

“Of course I did.”
“Mind telling me exactly what happened?”

I glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then started.

“I’d just come back from grabbing groceries. Walked into the apartment, and Jack was out on the balcony smoking. He heard me come in and shouted that the balcony was dusty—said I’d missed a spot.”

“His wife—Amber—told him it was from her cleaning flowerpots that morning. Told him to take it easy and said I’d deal with it after I finished cooking.”

“We both went to the kitchen to start dinner. Midway through, I stepped into the living room for a drink, and Jack was still fine—yelling at me to make sweet and sour ribs like I was his damn chef.”

“Five minutes later, the baby who sleeps on the couch starts crying, so I rush out to pick him up…”

“And that’s when I saw Jack flying off the fucking balcony.”

I clutched my chest at the memory. “There was blood everywhere. His head cracked open like a dropped watermelon. I was shaking so bad I could barely stand.”

Ryan’s expression darkened. He stared me down with those icy insurance agent eyes.

“You’re lying,” he said flatly. “You couldn’t have seen him fall.”

Chapter 2

That hit me like a punch to the gut.

Amber had told me—word for word—if anyone asked, I was to say I saw Jack fall. I was just following orders.

But how the hell did Ryan know I was bluffing?

I turned to leave, wanting nothing to do with this man and his creepy energy, but he stepped in front of me. “You’re hiding something,” he said. “What really happened that day?”

“I’m not lying,” I said. “You can see the balcony from the living room. It’s not that weird.”

Ryan snorted. “Not weird at all—if he fell from the living room balcony. But he didn’t. Jack fell from the service balcony. You know, the one that’s only accessible through the study?”

He pointed to a stone bench nearby. “Wanna try telling the truth now?”

I sank onto the bench and sighed. “Fine. I didn’t see it happen. But Jack falling? That was still an accident. I swear to God, I’m not hiding anything else.”

“Then start from the beginning,” Ryan said, taking a seat across from me like this was some FBI interrogation.

“Their marriage was trash,” I admitted. “They met through some app, maybe a dating site. It wasn’t love—just two sad people agreeing to tolerate each other.”

Ryan looked intrigued now. His whole vibe shifted from smug investigator to nosy barfly.

“Jack made good money,” I said, “but he was paranoid as fuck. Thought Amber was screwing someone on the side. Who knows, maybe she was. He started losing it—canceled her credit cards, told me he’d give me a thousand bucks a month to spy on her.”

“Spy how?” Ryan asked.

“Just keep tabs. See if she brought some guy over. If she did, text him.”

“And did you?”

“Yeah. That’s why he came home early that day.”

Ryan propped his chin in his palm and looked at me like I was a Netflix documentary.

“Did he fight with Amber when he got back?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. When I walked in, he was tearing through the apartment like a lunatic. Cabinets, drawers, even the damn fridge.”

“Amber was crying, holding the baby. Couldn’t calm him down. Then he starts screaming about how the guy must be hiding on the AC unit or some shit. Heads straight for the study balcony.”

“I was with Amber, trying to calm the baby down. Next thing I hear is this awful crash.”

I swallowed hard.

“We ran in and saw his body on the ground—blood everywhere. His head… fuck, it was bad.”

“That’s all I know,” I said.

Ryan didn’t flinch. “You dropped out of high school, right?”

“Middle school,” I muttered.

“Then you should know perjury is a felony,” he said. “You lie under oath, you can kiss your ass goodbye for a few years. And good luck finding another job when you’re out.”

“I told you everything already. What else do you want?”

“If I were you, I’d choose my next words real carefully.”

He bent down, picked up a pebble, and started scratching something into the stone table. It was a square—a cell. A fucking jail cell.

Then he looked me dead in the eyes.

“If you were Amber, would you bring your side piece home—where there’s a baby and a maid watching everything?”

I opened my mouth but couldn’t find the words.

“You sure about your story now?” he asked.

I stared at that scratched-up table, at the shape that looked so damn much like a prison cell.

My chest tightened.

“…It was my idea,” I admitted. “I offered to spy on Amber.”

Chapter 3

“I grew up dirt fucking poor,” I told Ryan.

Poor in a way his soft, khaki-wearing, Whole-Foods-shopping ass couldn’t even imagine.

When I was a kid, I used to stare at other kids in the school cafeteria while they drank their little cartons of milk. I wanted that shit so bad.

One day, I saw an empty milk box lying on the sidewalk, still dripping from the straw. I picked it up and sucked it dry.

It was full of ants.

That was the day I learned the real difference between people.
It wasn’t race or brains or talent. It was money.

So when I noticed Jack starting to get suspicious of Amber, I jumped on it. Told him, real subtle-like, that I could keep an eye on her for him. Just a small monthly fee—$1,000.

That day… the day it all went to shit? I still can’t even talk about it without my stomach turning.

Amber had given me a massage gift card—said I should go relax. God knows I needed it.

But halfway down the block, I realized I left the card at the apartment. So I headed back.

As I was walking up the driveway, I happened to glance up at their 22nd floor balcony, and there was a man standing there.

It wasn’t Jack.

The lighting was shitty, the angle was weird, but I could tell it wasn’t him. My gut went cold.

I texted Jack immediately, told him someone was in his house. Then I panicked and went grocery shopping to kill time, ‘cause hell if I was walking into that mess alone.

When I came back, Jack’s car wasn’t in the garage. It was parked right out front like he’d slammed the brakes and sprinted upstairs.

I ran up. The second I opened the door, I saw Jack pacing with the baby in his arms, yelling every goddamn obscenity in the book. Amber was a mess—hair tangled, cheeks red, like he’d just hit her.

And then he said he was gonna toss the baby off the fucking balcony.

I barely got him to stop. Took the baby from him while he and Amber started going at it—screaming, shoving, slapping.

Amber couldn’t fight him off, so she ran. I was still holding the baby, standing at the balcony door like a statue, so she couldn’t come near me. She darted toward the study instead, trying to hide on the service balcony.

Then all I heard was a crash.

Jack went down. Hard. Twenty-two stories.

Me and Amber just stared at each other like we were in a damn horror movie. Frozen.

She dropped to her knees, begged me not to say a word. Said if she went to prison, the kid would be screwed. That this wasn’t about her—it was about the baby.

Said she’d pay me if I kept my mouth shut.

All I could think about was my little brother back home, still trying to make it through college.

So I agreed. Sold my silence for a handful of zeroes.
I repeated exactly what Amber told me to say. Word for word.

And just like that, the whole thing got ruled an accident.

“Until you came knocking,” I muttered, staring at Ryan.
It felt good, finally saying it all out loud. Like tearing out a rotting tooth.

He smiled, real slow. “Damn. I underestimated you. Almost believed every word of that neat little performance.”

I blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why’d you send Jack that text?” he asked, voice low and sharp.

“Because he was paying me. Duh. I was doing my job.”

He stepped in close, way too close. “His own kid almost got tossed off the balcony, and Amber’s first reaction wasn’t to check on her baby. It was to throw hands with her husband?”

Then he grabbed my arm, yanked up my sleeve, and pointed to two long red scratches.

“And what the hell are these? You’re still lying. Spinning a story so damn backward it makes my head spin.”

Chapter 4

Ryan pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it like we were in the middle of a goddamn noir film. The second that smoke hit my nose, I nearly gagged.

He exhaled, tapped the ash off with this annoying little smirk. “You saw me the second I walked in, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“You spotted me right away. That whole performance about being the maid, talking loud enough for the guests to hear, that was for me. You wanted to make sure I overheard your story.”

He sat across from me again, looking smug as hell. “Here’s what I don’t get—why were you so quick to talk? You practically gift-wrapped the whole day’s timeline and handed it to me with a bow.”

I scowled and turned my face away from his smoke trail. “I just told the damn truth. Take it or leave it.”

“Even if that truth includes your boss’s dirty laundry?” His smile turned razor sharp. “You know why I’m here, Winter. It ain’t about justice. It’s about money. I’m trying to minimize the payout.”

“No matter what you ask, I’ve said it was an accident. ‘Cause it was. Me talking won’t change that.”

Ryan pulled a thick file out of his leather case, flipping through pages like he was reading bedtime stories. “You want some advice? Go take the GED. You’ve got brains, you’re just using them on the wrong shit.”

I picked at my fingernails, said nothing.

“Why’d you take the job at the Strong place anyway?” he asked.

“They paid more.” I didn’t even hesitate. “I’ve got a little brother I’m helping put through college. Haven’t bought a new shirt in years. This one?” I tugged at the hem of my faded hoodie. “Amber gave it to me. Said it didn’t fit her anymore.”

He raised a brow and tapped a résumé page with his pen. “Got this from the agency. Your track record’s pretty fucking interesting.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of a celebrity over there,” I said dryly. “I’m all over their website. Best caretaker of the year, three years running.”

He shook his head. “I like to dig for the truth myself.”

He slid the paper across the table.

“Before Jack, all your clients were elderly. Real sick. And they all died. Quick, too. A few months, sometimes less.”

“They were already dying,” I snapped. “What, you want me to raise the dead? Maybe you should try babysitting a stage-four cancer patient sometime.”

Ryan didn’t blink. “Six months ago, Amber had just given birth. You’d never taken care of a baby, never helped a new mom. Jack should’ve known better. Why would she hire someone like you?”

He leaned forward, crushing out his half-smoked cigarette. “Last question. The scratches on your arm. Where’d they come from?”

I didn’t say a word.

He laughed, low and cold. “Let me guess—slipped in the shower?”

Then he gestured at the files. “Doesn’t matter. I know a few journalists who’d love this story. Woman with a trail of dead employers, scandal, insurance payout… Truth or not, it’s juicy enough to ruin you. You’ll never get another job wiping old people’s asses, let alone anything else.”

“You think anyone would believe that?”

Ryan’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Jack falls off a 22nd-floor balcony. Amber cashes in big—insurance, inheritance, the works. I mention you in a single news article, maybe two. Boom. You’re toxic.”

I looked at him, this smug, charming devil of a man who just wouldn’t fucking quit.

I swallowed hard and said quietly, “Amber did those.”

“The scratches,” I clarified. “She was the one who came home early. Not Jack.”

Chapter 5

The one who came home early that day… wasn’t Jack.
It was Amber.

And like I told you, I grew up dirt poor.
Not “shared-a-room” poor. I mean digging-through-trash, nothing-but-one-pair-of-pants poor.

Back in elementary school, even in the middle of a scorching summer, I was still wearing fleece-lined jeans—because they were the only pants I had.

I remember being so jealous of the other girls who had spending money, who got to eat bacon-and-egg biscuits for breakfast instead of stale crackers.
They always smelled like warm dough and cinnamon.
And their clothes? Perfect. Clean. Matching. Fucking pastel headbands. Like they were born into a Target commercial.

Amber was one of those girls.

Same town. Same shitty public school. Same rundown lockers.
But she got the fairy tale. I got the freakin’ crumbs.

So the first time I saw her again at the agency? I recognized her immediately.

She was glowing—seven months pregnant, wrapped around the arm of some tall, polished Wall Street-looking guy with a Rolex that probably cost more than my brother’s tuition.

Jack Strong.

The diamonds around her neck caught the light like a damn commercial. And her wedding band? Enough to make me go blind.

She picked me, probably out of nostalgia. “Oh, it’s Winter from back home!”

At first, I took good care of her. She paid extra, gave me her old clothes—shit she didn’t want anymore.

But day after day, the difference between us felt like a punch to the gut.
She had this life—this rich, easy life—just because she married a guy with money. That’s all.

That’s when the idea started crawling into my head like a parasite.

Why the hell shouldn’t I take some of it?

So I started cozying up to Jack. Nothing obvious. Just enough to trigger that savior complex guys like him always carry. A brush on the arm, a sad story about how broke I was, how I had a brother in school, no family, no future. You know. The usual.

Somewhere along the way, it crossed a line. I don’t even remember the moment.
What I do remember is texting Jack before our meetups.

“Amber’s out. You can come over now.”

That day was no different. I sent the text, expecting him in twenty.

But I didn’t expect Amber to walk in, too.

She had the baby in her arms and caught us together.
Her whole face crumpled. She snapped.

Started screaming, flinging shit across the room—pillows, picture frames, anything within reach.

Then she stormed toward the balcony with the baby, yelling that she should just toss the kid and end it all.

I ran and snatched the baby from her, my arms shaking, heart going 100 mph.

And then she slapped me. Hard. Nails dragging down my arm, leaving deep red welts.

We started fighting, full-on. I tried to run—made it to the service balcony off the study, thinking I could lock myself in there and wait it out.

But she followed. Kept clawing and yelling.

That’s when Jack came in, trying to break it up. He tried to shove past me to get to Amber.

He lost his balance. Tripped.

And just like that, he was gone.

Twenty-two floors straight down.

Amber and I just stood there, too stunned to scream. It wasn’t until the baby started crying that we snapped out of it.

She dropped to her knees and begged me, sobbing, “Please… just say it was an accident. If I go to jail, what happens to him?”

She pointed to the baby, eyes wild, cheeks streaked with tears.

I told her I wanted ten grand.

She said okay.