Millie woke up to her phone alarm screaming.
She slapped it quietly and groaned, rubbing her eyes.
Her head pounded from barely sleeping, and the idea of a “day off” just meant squeezing in extra side jobs to make rent.
She rolled out of bed, socks snagging on the worn carpet as she shuffled to the kitchen.
The counter was buried under greasy takeout boxes and balled-up napkins—another night of eating whatever was cheap and quick.
Nothing new.
Cody was sprawled across the couch, TV blasting the morning news.
Some anchor was talking about a shooting at a fancy party in France—masked guys storming a villa, rich people scrambling, the usual chaos.
“Wild, right?” Cody said, crunching on stale chips from a bag on the coffee table.
“Bunch of masked dudes shooting up some billionaire’s bash.
Rich-people problems.”
“Yeah,” Millie mumbled, digging through the cabinet for a clean mug.
“Guess money doesn’t buy safety.” Her voice came out flat.
She wasn’t really paying attention to him or the screen—just moving on autopilot, trying to shake the fog in her head.
The news cut to a reporter jamming a microphone at a woman in a ruined dress.
Mascara streaked down her face, diamond earrings glinting like they didn’t care she was crying.
The ticker said it happened at some exclusive estate in the French countryside.
Another clip showed the mess afterward: broken champagne flutes, a chandelier smashed on the floor, and blood soaking what looked like thousand-dollar curtains.
Cody whistled low.
“Somebody’s always mad about what they’ve got, huh?” He tossed the remote onto the cushion beside him.
It landed with a soft thud.
Millie poured coffee.
The cheap grounds tasted bitter even through the steam.
“World’s getting crazier,” she said, mostly to herself.
She stirred longer than she needed to.
“Hey, I tried calling you last night.”
Cody kept his eyes on the TV.
“Yeah? Phone died. Left it at the bar.”
Her stomach knotted, but she kept her face blank.
“Oh. Okay.” It was just a dead battery.
No big deal.
“Probably still plugged in at Simon’s,” he added, crunching another chip. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
“I’ll grab it later.”
She nodded and dumped way too much milk in her coffee to cover the taste.
It didn’t work.
The news kept going—talking about wealth gaps, rising anger, and all that stuff that felt miles away from her life.
She sipped anyway, burned her tongue, and checked the clock.
Time to head out for the cleaning shift.
Another day, scrubbing floors so the lights stayed on in this apartment.
Soon she was stepping into the shiny lobby of a high-rise, a cleaning bag over her shoulder, sneakers squeaking on marble.
It always felt like crossing into another country.
Her body ached, but bills didn’t care.
The apartment she got sent to was a circus.
Tripods and ring lights everywhere in the living room, blasting fake daylight.
In the middle of it all stood a blonde woman who looked like she had endless energy.
“Hi! Millie, right?” the woman said, bouncing on her toes.
“Amelia,” she corrected gently.
Only friends got to call her Millie.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“I’m Sabrina. Clara said you’re amazing. I’m so glad you’re here!”
Millie raised an eyebrow.
Pumped for a cleaner?
Okay.
“Thanks.
Where do you want me to start?”
“My bedroom,” Sabrina said, already scrolling her phone.
“It’s a disaster.”
Millie swallowed the sarcastic “no kidding” and headed that way.
Sabrina followed, filming herself the whole time.
“Hey, guys! Check out this insane view—worth every cent of rent, right?” She panned her phone toward the huge windows.
“Also, last night was next-level crazy. Like, wild.”
Millie tuned her out and stepped into the bedroom.
It was worse than she pictured.
Clothes piled everywhere—designer tags mixed with crumpled receipts, empty makeup tubes, and a random energy drink can tipped over.
Looked like a store exploded.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m meant to live out of a suitcase,” Sabrina called from the living room, her voice all bubbly for the camera.
“Yeah, tough life,” Millie muttered under her breath, picking up a pair of silk shorts.
She smirked to herself.
As she tossed a glittery top onto the bed, something shiny caught her eye.
A condom wrapper half-hidden in the clothes pile.
She snorted—half amused, half grossed out.
Well, someone had fun.
She kept going, stuffing clothes into the hamper, when another wrapper glinted from under the bed, peeking out from under a magazine.
Millie paused, staring at it.
Of course, Sabrina was bragging about her “wild” night online.
Classic influencer move—always performing, always sharing too much.
Millie shook her head.
Not her circus.
Just clean and leave.
Her phone buzzed.
Text from Clara: “If she films you, demand a talent fee lol.” There was a link to Sabrina’s livestream.
Millie sighed, hesitated, then tapped it.
On the screen, Sabrina lounged on the couch, giggling.
“Okay, guys, it was just a silly dare. Bring home a cute bartender for a little after-party fun? Totally nuts, but you gotta live a little, right?” She flipped her hair and laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.
Millie’s stomach dropped hard.
Her heart started hammering.
It was stupid—irrational—but Sabrina’s words landed like a punch.
Cute bartender.
After-party.
She shoved the feeling down and got back to work, crawling under the bed to grab stray shoes and magazines.
Her fingers brushed something familiar—scuffed black leather.
She froze.
Cody’s phone charger.
The one he lost all the time.
What the hell was it doing here?