His Private Affair

Naomi

I woke up before my alarm, the same way I always did. The apartment upstairs was already blasting music at full volume, the bass thumping through the thin ceiling like it wanted to punch a hole straight into my skull. I lay there for a second, staring at the water stains spreading across the plaster like ugly bruises. The pipe in the wall knocked again... loud, angry, familiar. Welcome to another day in Ashbury Flats.

My body ached before I even sat up. Shoulders tight from yesterday’s shifts, feet still sore, lower back complaining like it had a personal grudge against me. Twenty-two years old and I already felt like I was pushing forty. But lying around wasn’t an option. Being late meant hours cut from my paycheck, and I couldn’t afford that right now.

I swung my legs over the side of the mattress on the floor and stood up. The room was barely bigger than a closet... peeling paint at the corners, one flickering bulb overhead, and a window that looked out onto a brick wall. I padded to the tiny kitchenette and microwaved a packet of instant coffee. The smell wasn’t great, but it was cheap. Café coffee was a luxury I’d given up months ago.

The fridge offered slim pickings, expired yogurt, half a carton of milk that smelled questionable, and some leftover takeout fries wrapped in foil. I poured cereal into a chipped bowl, added the last of the milk, and ate standing up. It tasted like cardboard. I caught my reflection in the microwave door... tired eyes, messy dark hair, and laughed quietly at myself.

“Real gourmet breakfast, Naomi,” I muttered. Humor was basically my survival strategy at this point. Laugh or cry. I chose laugh.

Before I left, I flipped open the small notebook I kept on the counter. Every expense went in there, down to the last cent.

Rent due in twelve days.

Electricity overdue.

Phone bill delayed again.

Tips lower this month.

I added up the numbers in my head and felt that familiar knot in my stomach. I’d need at least four extra shifts this week just to stay afloat. Even then, it probably wouldn’t be enough.

I closed the notebook and whispered to the empty room, “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”

That was my motto. Pretend until it’s true. Fake the confidence until the universe finally decides to cut me some slack.

I pulled on my uniform for the Sunset Motor Inn, faded blue polo and black pants that had seen better days, and headed out. The early morning air in Crown Meridian was cool and damp. Wealthy business types in sharp suits hurried past homeless shelters, luxury cars splashing rainwater onto cracked sidewalks. Giant digital billboards glowed overhead, advertising things I’d never be able to afford. I kept my head down and blended in. Invisible. That was safest.

Two crowded buses and forty-five minutes later, I stepped off at the Sunset Motor Inn. The place was a squat, tired building on the edge of a decent neighborhood, the kind of spot travelers used when they didn’t want to spend real money. I clocked in and got my list of rooms.

The first one was bad. Party aftermath. Empty bottles, food smeared on the carpet, towels everywhere. I worked quietly, stripping sheets, scrubbing surfaces, vacuuming up glitter and God knows what else. My arms burned, but I kept moving. Complaining didn’t pay the bills.

A new girl.. maybe nineteen, was working the room across the hall. I heard her swear and rushed over. She’d knocked over a whole jug of bleach. The smell burned my nose, and her eyes were wide with panic.

“I’m so screwed,” she whispered. “Patricia’s going to kill me.”

I grabbed extra towels and started mopping it up with her. “It’s okay. Help me clean this fast. I’ll say part of it was my fault.”

She stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “Why would you do that?”

Because I knew what it felt like to be new and terrified. Because someone had to be kind in this world. I just shrugged. “Teamwork.”

We got it sorted before anyone noticed. She gave me a grateful smile that made the extra work worth it.

Around midday, Patricia Vaughn called me into her office. She was in her fifties, strict, with sharp eyes that never missed a thing. She didn’t offer me a seat.

“Several guest complaints this week, Reyes,” she said, tapping a pen on her desk. “Rooms cleaned too slowly. Forgotten towels. Incomplete minibar checks.”

I swallowed. “I’m sorry. I’ve been covering extra rooms because we’re short-staffed—”

“You need to get your life together before it affects my business.” Her voice was cold. “Shape up or I’ll have to find someone who can keep up.”

The words stung more than I wanted to admit. I apologized again, promised to do better, and left the office with my shoulders tighter than before.

The rest of the shift passed in a blur of dirty sheets and rude guests. One guy snapped his fingers at me without even looking up, mistaking me for room service. I smiled, fixed his order, and kept moving. By the time my motel shift ended, my feet were screaming.

I changed in the employee bathroom... swapping the polo for a simple black top and skirt for the club, then caught the next bus to Velvet Ember.

The transition always felt jarring. The cheap motel smell gave way to perfume, alcohol, and money. Fluorescent lights replaced by warm gold neon. Tired workers replaced by rich men throwing cash around like it meant nothing.

I was visibly dragging when I arrived. My feet ached so badly I had to sit on a crate in the back for a minute before my shift started. One of the other waitresses grinned at me.

“D*mn, Naomi. You look like a zombie.”

I laughed it off. “Long day. I’ll wake up once the tips start rolling in.”

The club was busy tonight. I moved between tables, balancing trays, smiling through the noise. My wrist throbbed from carrying too many drinks, but I pushed through.

At one point, while carrying a heavy tray toward a VIP booth, I accidentally bumped shoulders with a tall man exiting the private lounge hallway. I steadied the tray fast, heart jumping.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” I said quickly, eyes down like we’d been trained. Never inconvenience the wealthy customers.

“Careful.” His voice was deep, clipped. Cold.

I caught a glimpse of an expensive watch on his wrist and a sharp, unreadable expression before he moved on. I didn’t linger. Too much to do.

The rest of the night blurred into exhaustion. I dropped a straw tray. Forgot one drink order. Accidentally stepped into the wrong VIP section for half a second. Small mistakes, but they added up. By closing time, I was running on fumes.

In the employee hallway, I rubbed pain cream into my swollen wrist. For the first time all day, I let the tiredness show on my face. How much longer could I keep doing this? How long before something finally broke?

I clocked out after midnight and stepped outside. Rain poured down hard, soaking the city. I pulled my thin jacket tighter and stood at the bus stop, checking my bank app. The numbers hadn’t changed. Still not enough.

My stomach growled... I’d skipped dinner to save a few bucks. The bus was delayed again. I leaned against the shelter, watching rain streak down the plastic.

Then I noticed her. A small stray cat huddled under the bench, trying to stay dry. Wet fur, big eyes, shivering.

I didn’t think. I pulled out the half sandwich I’d saved from earlier, tore off a piece, and set it down near her.

“Here you go, baby,” I whispered. “Better than nothing.”

She hesitated, then crept forward and ate. I watched her, feeling something warm in my chest despite everything.

I had almost nothing. A crappy apartment. Two dead-end jobs. A notebook full of worries. But I still had this... small moments where I could give.

The bus finally came. I climbed on, dripping wet, and found a seat. As the city lights blurred past the window, I closed my eyes and repeated my quiet promise.

“Okay. We’ll figure it out.”

Author's Note

Warning : This book contains heavy sexual content.

Naomi

I arrived at the Inn thirty minutes early, even though I’d barely slept. After yesterday, I needed to show them... show myself, that I could still hold it together. The air felt cooler this morning, and I stopped at the street cart two blocks away to buy a coffee. I knew I shouldn’t spend the money, but I needed something small to hold onto.

“Today will be better,” I whispered to myself as I paid.

The first sign that something was off hit me the moment I clocked in. Patricia barely looked at me. A couple of the other housekeepers glanced away quickly when I said good morning. I told myself they were still annoyed about yesterday. Fair enough. I’d make up for it.

I threw myself into the work harder than usual. I moved faster between rooms, double-checked every inventory list, folded towels with perfect corners, and apologized to guests even when they weren’t complaining. The fear of becoming disposable sat heavy in my chest