The contract had been placed in front of her the morning after she arrived.
It was printed on thick, cream-colored paper with crisp, cold font. The kind of paper that whispered wealth. The kind of agreement that seemed too formal for something as simple as being a household helper.
She scanned through the lines slowly. There was nothing overtly strange—nothing that jumped off the page—but still… it felt off. Some clauses were vague, talking about privacy and discretion, about boundaries and respect for certain areas of the house.
She had asked Ama about it, whispering her doubts.
Ama had shrugged gently. "All of us signed it. Nothing's ever happened. Just stay in your lane, do your work, and you'll be fine."
So Ziva had signed it.
The rest of the week passed without incident. The house was quiet and structured. She fell into the rhythm of early mornings, silent breakfasts, and cleaning rotations. The head maids—Mrs. Glade and Vera—watched everything, but didn't interfere unless necessary. Ama became her closest company, her anchor in a place that often felt too big, too cold.
No calls came from Lila. Ziva checked her phone every night, clutching it like a lifeline. But there was nothing. Not even a missed text.
Still, nothing strange happened. Not until the weekend.
The other girls were packing up small bags, getting ready to return to their apartments. A few of them even invited Ziva along. "We usually head out by six. You coming?" one of them asked with a wink.
Ziva had nodded. "Yeah, I'll be quick."
But when she tried to leave, she was stopped.
Mrs. Glade appeared in the corridor, her expression unreadable. "Miss Ziva. You won't be leaving today."
Ziva blinked. "Sorry?"
Mrs. Glade lowered her gaze slightly in a gesture that looked too polite. Too practiced. "Mr. Drevault's assistant will be here shortly. He requested to meet with you."
Before Ziva could ask anything else, Vera joined them. She too bowed—not just respectfully. Deliberately.
Ziva's skin prickled. "Why does he want to meet me?"
Neither woman answered directly. "He'll explain."
Minutes later, the assistant arrived. Neatly dressed, poised, and smiling faintly like he already knew her.
"It's an honor, Miss Ziva," he said, bowing as the maids had. "Mr. Drevault sends his regards."
Ziva stood very still.
No one had bowed to her before this week. And definitely not like this.
For six days, she'd been treated like just another girl cleaning a rich man's floor. But now, everything felt… different. Tighter. The air around her buzzed with unspoken tension.
Something had changed.
And somehow, they all knew something she didn't.
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