The $3 Million Debt: Maid's Fatal Mistake

I dropped a hundred and fifty grand on a toptier, purebred Ashera cat, and my hired maid actually had the nerve to scowl and lecture me.

Rhonda wiped down my marble countertop with aggressive, heavy strokes. "That kind of money could buy my brother Wyatt a brandnew Ford pickup and cover his child support for years!" She tossed the rag aside. "How can a woman waste her money on an animal?

It just distracts you from finding a real man. Wyatt is a solid guy." "I should set you two up.

He'd definitely teach you how to manage your wild spending." I leveled a freezing glare at her. "Mind your own business and do the job I pay you for." She clamped her mouth shut.

But when I returned from my business trip, Ivory’s designer bed sat empty. Rhonda stood right in the middle of my living room, a smug smirk plastered across her face.

She pointed at a grotesque object on the side table. "Stop looking." "Wyatt took that beast back to his place and slaughtered it." "Look, he even made a skull lamp out of it for you." She crossed her arms over her chest. "He saw your pictures, Sloane.

He’s extremely satisfied." "In fact, he’s on his way over right now to make you his wife." My nails dug brutally into my palms until the skin nearly broke.

I didn't waste a single breath arguing. I simply pulled out my phone and dialed 911. She liked calling the shots in my house?

She could make all the decisions she wanted from inside a prison cell.

Chapter 1 I had just finished snapping a picture of Ivory for my Instagram story, ready to kick back and enjoy a quiet afternoon.

Lounging in her designer bed, Ivory’s eyes caught the light like flawless sapphires.

Rhonda marched over with a fruit platter, but her gaze was instantly glued to Ivory’s custom smart water fountain. "Sloane, this fountain thing… didn't come cheap, did it?" Assuming she was just being nosy, I gave a brief nod. "It's alright." She scoffed, her tone dripping with sour judgment. "A beast's water bowl costs more than my monthly paycheck.

Must be nice.

I'm not trying to overstep, Sloane, but a single woman like you should be saving your money, not throwing it away like this." She crossed her arms. "This is practically a sin against God!

You could have donated that money to the church, or better yet, invested it in my brother Wyatt to do something actually useful!" I picked up my espresso, entirely done with this conversation. "Thanks, Rhonda, but I like this one just fine.

I won't be replacing it." "Like it? You dropped a hundred and fifty grand on an animal, and another grand on something for it to drink out of, just because you like it?

Your priorities are completely warped!" I had no idea how she snooped out the price tags, but her lecturing tone sucked the air right out of the living room.

My expression iced over. "This is my house and my money.

I'll spend it however I damn well please, and I certainly don't need you policing my bank account." Seeing my temper flare, Rhonda immediately slapped on a victimized, defensive look. "Don't get me wrong, Sloane.

I just treat you like family. I'm worried about you." "That hundred and fifty grand could pull Wyatt completely out of bankruptcy!

It could buy my parents full medical coverage!" "You spending it on a pet is selfish to the core. You're going straight to hell for this!" I slammed my espresso cup onto the saucer.

The fine porcelain cracked. "My money, my choices!" I snapped. "Even if I left every last cent I own to this cat in my will, it’s my business.

It has absolutely nothing to do with you." Seeing my hardened expression—and taking advantage of the empty house—she dropped the act.

She marched over and dropped her weight onto my custom leather sofa right across from me.

I opened my mouth to tell her to get off, but she yanked a crumpled photo out of her apron pocket. "Look, Sloane, I'm only giving you this tough love because I genuinely care about your future." She shoved the photo across the coffee table, her voice swelling with delusional pride. "Take a good look.

This is Wyatt." "He's the head of security at a dive bar in town. He's a real badass, knows a ton of gang guys. He can protect you." I glanced at the photo.

The guy had a cratered face, a flat nose, and beady, predatory eyes. He was the absolute furthest thing from a badass.

I stared at the cratered face, my silence stretching a second too long.

Taking my shock for interest, Rhonda slid right next to me on the sofa. "A woman needs a man to anchor her down eventually. Running wild with no one to keep you in check?

That's a disaster waiting to happen," she prattled on. "Wyatt might not pull in a CEO's salary, but he's a grounded guy." "Knows the value of a dollar.

If you married him, he’d take absolute control of your finances and stop this insane spending.

You two would have a solid, traditional life." The temperature in the room seemingly plummeted.

Chapter 2 The lingering warmth from my afternoon with Ivory evaporated, replaced by bile rising in the back of my throat. I dropped the last shred of politeness.

My voice turned to ice. "Rhonda, remember your place." I stared her down. "I have zero interest in who your brother is, let alone being anywhere near him.

Where do you even get this insane delusion?" "Let me make this crystal clear. I have a fiancé, and we're getting married very soon.

Shove those ridiculous fantasies right out of your head." Rhonda blinked, stunned for a beat before she waved a hand dismissively. "Who cares about a fiancé?

Until there's a ring on your finger at the altar, it's fair game." She scoffed. "That fiancé of yours is probably just after your trust fund anyway." "Men these days are absolute trash.

Wyatt is different. He's looking to settle down for real.

You rich girls overthink everything, that's exactly why you get scammed." She patted her knees and stood up. "Don't worry, I'll have him reach out to you. Romance takes time.

Once you meet him in person, you'll see what a catch he is." "You two even look like a match made in heaven." I pressed my fingers to my temples.

Arguing with this level of delusional was a waste of oxygen.

I shoved past her and snatched my coat off the rack. "I have a dinner meeting tonight and I'm flying out of state for a business trip tomorrow. Keep the house clean.

And keep your nose out of my personal life." This trip had been on my calendar for weeks. I originally hired Rhonda because she seemed fast, efficient, and quiet.

Clearly, I misjudged that one. The second my flight landed back in the city, firing her was going to be the first item on my todo list.

As I pulled open the front door, Rhonda scurried up behind me. She had slapped that subservient, plastic smile right back onto her face. "Have a safe trip, Sloane!

Don't you worry about a thing, I'll keep the place spotless for you." I genuinely thought setting that boundary would force her to back off. I was wrong.

Barely an hour after I checked into my hotel suite, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. [Hey there. Wyatt here. Rhonda's brother.

She told me you've got the hots for me.] I stared at the glowing screen, my stomach rolling. Before I could even process the audacity, a second message pinged through.

An image attachment. The man in the photo wore a filthy sleeveless tank top, showing off flabby arms completely covered in cheap, blownout tattoos.

He was leaning against a rustedout, beatup pickup truck taking a selfie. He held a can of cheap domestic beer in one hand and flipped off the camera with the other.

My assistant leaned over my shoulder to peek at the screen and immediately let out a dramatic gag. "Oh my god, what swamp did that creature crawl out of?

Your maid's brother is absolutely horrifying." She slapped her hands over her eyes. "Delete it, please." "I think my corneas just sustained permanent workplace damage." I hit Block Caller without a second of hesitation.

But less than five minutes later, another text popped up from a completely different unknown number. [Stop faking it. I know you're actually craving a piece of me.

My mom said you rich girls just love playing hard to get.] [Wait for me. I'm coming to find you soon. Gonna give you a real surprise.] My patience officially flatlined.

I powered the phone off and shoved it into my purse. Two agonizingly long days of meetings later, my assistant and I dragged our exhausted bodies back to my apartment building.

The moment the elevator doors slid open on my floor, I stopped dead. A hulking, shadowy figure was blocking the entrance to my custom oak front door.

At his feet sat a twelvepack of cheap beer and several filthy, stained sleeping bags.

A violent stench hit me like a physical wall—a suffocating mix of cheap, skunky weed and the sour, gaginducing reek of a body that hadn't seen soap in months.

Chapter 3 "You… must be Sloane." His eyes lit up the second he saw me, baring a grin full of rotting, yellowed teeth. "I'm Wyatt. My sister told me everything.

No need to play shy." He lunged forward, his filthy hand reaching out to grab my wrist. "My mom said spoiled, rich girls like you are just begging for a real Alpha Male to tame them.

I'm gonna show you what a real man feels like." My assistant immediately stepped in front of me, shoving her arm out. "Who the hell are you?

Back off, or I'm calling building security!" Wyatt blinked, as if he hadn't even noticed she was there.

His gaze raked up and down her body, turning vicious. "This ain't your business. Piss off!" "This is between me and my future wife. My sister told me she's been obsessed with me!

I'm moving in today to make it official!" I stared at him and his pile of garbage, bile rising in my throat. "I don't know who you are.

Get away from my door right now, or I'm calling the cops." My rejection set him off.

The nasty grin vanished from Wyatt's face, his jaw locking tight. "Stop acting so high and mighty!

You're just a sugar baby, and you think you can look down on me?" He sneered. "My sister told me how you blow through cash." "You're just a wasteful bitch.

You're lucky I'm even willing to claim you!" Then, he snatched up a glass beer bottle and hurled it violently at my custom oak front door. Smash!

A deafening crash echoed down the hall as glass shattered everywhere. Cheap beer and some foulsmelling liquid dripped down the polished wood.

He even unzipped his pants and hawked a thick glob of spit right onto my doormat. "Stupid bitch!

I gave you a chance!" he roared. "You just wait!" He threw out one last string of curses before stomping off down the hallway.

I stared at the ruined, reeking entrance, my nails digging halfmoons into my palms.

My assistant quickly pulled out her phone, snapping photos of the damage. "These people are literal psychos!

This is property damage and harassment!" I dragged in a sharp breath, shoved my fury down, and unlocked the door. The second the door swung open, the air felt wrong.

The apartment was dead silent. Normally, Ivory would be sprinting to the entryway by now. Worse, there was no scent of her premium cat food.

Instead, the entire living room reeked of harsh industrial bleach. "Ivory?" I called out. Dead silence. My assistant frowned.

We exchanged a tense look and sprinted straight for Ivory’s dedicated sunroom. I shoved the door open. My stomach dropped.

Where her custombuilt cat mansion used to sit, there was nothing but splintered wood and scattered screws.

Her imported selfcleaning litter box, the smart feeder, the security cameras… all gone. Stripped bare. And sitting right in the middle of the wreckage was a cheap picture frame.

Inside was another photo of Rhonda's brother, Wyatt, flashing that same sickening, predatory grin at the camera.

My assistant caught one glimpse of the photo and cursed. "What the actual fuck? Do these lunatics think they own the place?" I didn't even process her words.

A freezing numbness shot up from the soles of my feet, crawling right under my skin. Right then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was the owner of the luxury pet boutique. "Sloane?

Your maid came into the shop today. She said you weren't keeping Ivory anymore and demanded cash refunds for all your preordered imported food and treats.

Is this true?" A heavy pause on the line. "She said you're getting married and need to start being frugal." Chapter 4 Then, right next to the splintered wreckage of the cat mansion, I spotted a piece of paper.

It was covered in Rhonda's chicken scratch. [Sloane, I got rid of all that useless junk for you and saved you a ton of money.

I already used the savings to buy Wyatt a new suit so he can be ready to meet you.] Something snapped inside my skull.

My blood ran icecold. "Where is Ivory?" My voice scraped out of my throat, raw and heavy.

Right then, Rhonda strolled out of my kitchen draped in my pure silk pajamas, sipping my vintage red wine from my most expensive bone china cup.

She ignored the lethal glare I shot her, swaggering over to plop down on my custom leather sofa like she was the lady of the house. "Sloane, you're back. Don't blow up just yet.

Have a drink." She waved the teacup at me. "Look, I know this is a lot to take in all at once, but I'm doing this for your own good." She actually reached out to grab my arm.

My assistant ruthlessly slapped her hand away. Since it was just the three of us in the apartment, Rhonda dropped the subservient maid act entirely.

Her expression flatlined into chilling arrogance. "Ugh, you rich girls are just so stubborn and misguided. I'm helping you.

You can't treat an animal this well, or you'll be cursed by God." She took another sip of my wine. "A woman's real value lies in her home and her husband.

Not some beast." Staring at her, I knew talking to this lunatic was a complete waste of oxygen. I spun on my heel, marching over to the ruined cat mansion.

I pointed at the debris. "Document everything." But as I scanned the scattered screws and planks, I realized the situation was infinitely worse.

Every single piece of highend smart technology was gone. "Don't bother," Rhonda said.

She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "I already pawned all that junk off to a scrapyard for fifty bucks.

It was just enough to buy Wyatt a few packs of smokes and some beer." "You must have run into him in the hall.

Isn't he a real man?" "What did you just say?" My chest tightened as if a fist had crushed my ribs. All the oxygen abandoned my lungs. "You sold my equipment?

Where is my cat?!" Those devices were customimported from Europe. And she pawned them for fifty dollars. My suffocating silence only fueled Rhonda's delusion.

She looked at me with smug entitlement, like she was handing out charity. "Exactly.

It's all for your own good." She scoffed. "If you're going to be a wife, you need to act like one." "Your entire focus needs to be on serving your husband, taking care of the house, and popping out kids for his family.

That's the only right path." I thought her playing savior was the peak of her delusion. I severely underestimated her.

She dug into her silk pajama pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper, shoving it toward me. "Oh, right, almost forgot." She tapped the paper. "This is the bill for cleaning up your room, including my life coaching consulting fees, plus emotional distress compensation for your future sisterinlaw." "Take a look and write me a check right now." I stared at her, positive my hearing had shortcircuited.

I hadn't even slapped her with a lawsuit yet, and she was extorting me