Disloyalty

- Blank space -

Mia. 

I rolled over in bed, my body heavy and sluggish. The familiar surroundings of my room came into focus: framed pictures on the walls, neat rows of bookshelves, and the full-length mirror reflecting the dim morning light. Everything looked as it should, but something felt off. There was a subtle wrongness to it all, like a picture hanging just slightly askew.

Sitting up, I rubbed my temples, trying to fight through the fog in my mind. What the hell happened last night? I reached for fragments of memory, but they slipped through my fingers like sand. The last clear thing I could remember was—

Oh, shit.

Suddenly, The memories slammed into me, one after the other: getting fired from my job, walking in on Isaac with that woman in our bed, then going to Megan's place... After that, things  begin to blur—a hazy, alcohol-soaked fog I couldn't quite penetrate.

 I remember drinks. Lots of drinks. But how did I get home? If I was at Megan's, how did I end up here? She doesn't even drive. And where the hell is Isaac?

Panic shot through me, my heart hammering against my ribcage as questions rattled around my brain. omg what did I do last night.

Am I going to go into the bathroom and find a dead Issac, fuck did I go rogue.

I stumbled out of bed, my legs shaky beneath me, and caught my reflection in the mirror. My complexion was as confused as I felt: lipstick smeared across my lips, mascara streaked down my cheeks like I'd been crying—was I crying?—and I was dressed in clothes that definitely weren't mine.

Scanning the room, I spotted a note on the nightstand, folded neatly next to my phone. My stomach twisted as I reached for it, dread coiling tight in my chest.

I took care of Isaac and that other woman for you, so don't expect to see them again. (No, he's not dead.) —A.

A? Who the hell is A? My pulse quickened, the paper shaking slightly in my hand. Whoever it was, they now know where I live, knew what had happened. Oh no, no, no. How drunk was I? Drunk enough to blurt out my address to some stranger?

I dashed to the closet, fumbling with the combination to the small safe hidden in the back. My hands trembled as I yanked it open, my breath catching until I saw the cash and my passport were still there, untouched. Relief washed over me, but it was fleeting. There was still too much I didn't know.

Throwing myself back onto the bed, I stared up at the ceiling, my mind spinning. No job. No boyfriend. And now Andrew—of all people—decides to rise from the dead and make my life a living hell. Just what I needed.

I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled into the living room, sinking into the couch. I'd been through worse, right? I could handle this. A more mature, level-headed version of me could get through it. I grabbed my laptop and opened it, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the chaos swirling in my head.

Might as well start looking for jobs, I thought bitterly. Otherwise, I'd be selling this apartment and everything in it by the end of the month. I opened my emails , bracing for the barrage of clutter. Newsletters, junk subscriptions, and a slew of my old job emails.

Except one.

My eyes snagged on the subject line: Job Opportunity—Immediate Offer. 

I hadn't even started fully looking what is this luck.

I stared at it for a moment, frozen in disbelief. My mind raced. Was this linked to last night? Had I drunkenly begged someone for a job? Or was this some scam waiting to drain my bank account? Because of course, that's exactly what I need right now.

I clicked on it, scanning the content with a mixture of suspicion and hope. The email was professional, coming from a company I'd never heard of. No job title, no company name. Just an invitation cloaked in mystery.

Dear Mia Ebsworth, it began, After reviewing your qualifications, we are pleased to inform you that you have been selected along with a small group of candidates to join our company. Full details cannot be disclosed until you confirm your interest, but we can offer an immediate start. Please respond within 24 hours.

What the hell? My initial excitement fizzled into uncertainty. No job title? No information? Something about it felt... off. Too good to be true, too vague to be real. And yet, a part of me wanted to believe it. 

What if this is the breakthrough I need? What if this cryptic email was the universe throwing me a lifeline, even if it was hidden behind a layer of secrecy?

I fumbled for my phone and called Megan, spamming her number until she finally picked up. Her voice was groggy, and she groaned as she answered.

"Mia, it's 7 a.m. I'm dying here—my head is pounding."

"I know, but listen." I hesitated, trying to form coherent thoughts through the whirlwind in my head. "Do you remember how I got fired yesterday?"

"Unfortunately," she mumbled.

"Well, I got this weird email offering me a job. No company name, no job title, nothing. But it looks.. legit. Or maybe it's a scam. I don't know. What do you think? Should I take the risk?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, long enough that I thought she might've fallen back asleep.

"Yes," she said finally, her voice clearer now. "Absolutely take it. It's a fantastic idea. You'd be an idiot if you didn't. And really, what's the worst that could happen?"

What's the worst that could happen?

"Okay," I muttered, still unsure but feeling a little braver with her words echoing in my head. "Thanks, Megan."

I hung up and stared at my screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Every word I typed felt like a step deeper into the unknown. 

With a deep breath, I hit send. Whatever was coming, I'd face it. Ready or not.

-----------------

A couple of hours later, after endlessly debating whether sending that email was a good idea, I finally got a response.

My heart raced as I opened it, scanning the words with a mix of excitement and dread. The further down the email I read, the more my lips curved into a smile.

"We are delighted to inform you that you have been offered the job. Please meet at this location tomorrow..."

I paused, rereading the sentence to make sure I hadn't imagined it. The attached address was for a café—not some sketchy office in a run-down building or a shady alleyway like I'd half-expected. A quick search online confirmed it: the café was in an upscale area, surrounded by sleek storefronts and trendy restaurants.

This was... legitimate. Fancy, even.

No matter what, I was going. Missing out on an opportunity like this wasn't an option, not in the situation I was in.

Still, I couldn't shake the tiny flicker of doubt nagging at the back of my mind. It felt too good to be true. Just in case, I'd bring pepper spray. Better safe than sorry.