That evening, while I was packing up the last of my things, a message from Sebastian popped up. No words. Just a location.
I frowned. I didn’t want to go. But part of me worried something might’ve actually happened, and I didn’t want anything messing up my escape so close to the finish line. So I called a cab.
It was pouring outside.
By the time I arrived, I was soaked through—clothes clinging to me, hair dripping, not a single dry patch on my body.
I pushed the door open, panting, only to have every head in the room snap toward me, then erupt into laughter.
“No way, she actually came? Damn, Sebastian, your maid’s really committed.”
“I thought ‘maid’ was a code name or something. But no, she actually looks like one!”
“Ugh, lame. I thought you meant the other kind of maid.”
Laughter echoed around me.
If I still didn’t understand what was going on, I’d be an idiot. I glanced at the mirror nearby.
The woman in the reflection looked pathetic—hair a mess, clothes soaked through, like she’d been fished out of a lake.
A dozen emotions hit me at once—shame, hurt, disappointment, rage.
And in the end, all I could do was let out a soft laugh.
I turned to Sebastian and asked calmly, “You happy now?”